Clash (SYOC)
by Lawrence Cartwright
Summary: A retelling of The Clone Wars from the perspectives of of several Jedi Knights and Padawans, their old or current Masters, and the clones who followed them. (SYOC, formerly called 'Tendrils of Darkness, Shields of Light')
1. Author's Prelude

**Prelude**

**Greetings and salutations everyone, and welcome to my **_**other **_**little pet project, **_**Clash (formerly Tendrils of Darkness, Shields of Light)**_**!**

**This story will run the gamut of the Clone Wars from its beginning to its very end and will document the trials and tribulations of characters created and submitted by none other than YOU, the readers!**

**For this story, I would like you guys to submit a total of six Jedi OCs to me through a profile that you will copy, fill out, and submit through a PM if you are interested, and the characters you send in will become the perspectives from which I attempt to write this. I have already included most of the details on how to create a character for this story and what I'm looking for from you in the profile, but if you have any further questions, don't hesitate to ask. I'm looking for at least six characters at the most, and I will pick based on a first-come, first-serve basis. If I get a couple more than what I was looking for, than while the extras may not become Main Characters, they certainly have a shot at becoming Reoccurring. **

**If you want to submit a character, but don't know how many slots I still have available, open up my profile bio and scroll to the bottom. There I will include a constantly updated list of the characters I have, who created them, and some of their basic information. I will announce when I have enough characters through an update to this story near immediately, so be on the look-out for that.**

**If you are still interested in contributing to this story, but ran out of time to submit a Jedi, don't worry! I will also accept as many Clone Trooper OCs as you all are willing to give me, and unlike the Jedi, these are practically unlimited at the moment. I will be sure to include a profile for how to make a Clone in my next update, so please be on the lookout for that!**

**As always, no flames please! But constructive criticism is always welcomed.**

**This should really be obvious, but no Mary-Sue characters! I won't accept poorly written and/or obscenely powerful characters who are incapable of doing any sort of wrong because there is absolutely nothing I can do with that. I want flawed and fallible people who can and inevitably will mess up in some way. **

**Finally, expect this story as a whole to evolve constantly as I go about writing it up and editing it, with certain things appearing, disappearing, and changing as I do so. So what you get at the moment of upload is not always the final copy of that particular chapter.**

**I will be waiting to see what you send me. Hope you all have a great week!**

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_**Tendrils of Darkness, Shields of Light Jedi OC Submission Profile.**_

Name (Please give me a name that both fits your species and the setting at large. No, your character may not be related to any canonical character, so if your name is too similar, or shares the same last name as canon character, I will ask you to change it.):

Age (If your character is still a Padawan, then they will be between the ages of 17-21, between the ages of 22-27 if they are a full-fledged Knight, or from age 28 upward if they are a Master):

Gender (Pretty self-explanatory, I would like to have an even or near-even divide of the sexes if at all possible.):

Race/Species (Choose one from the species list below or if you find a race you really like but that I didn't include, PM me your suggestion, and I'll consider it. For the sake of diversity, I would like to have no more than one Human please.):

Jedi Order Rank (Choose from Padawan, Knight, or Master, I will accept only one or at the very most two Master-Ranked OCs.):

Lightsaber (Pick from a Single Lightsaber, Duel Lightsabers, or a Double-Bladed Lightsaber):

Lightsaber Color (Please chose from blue, green, or yellow):

Lightsaber Combat Form (Pick two from Forms I, II, III, IV, V, VI, and VII, and designate one as your signature/primary style while the other is your secondary/fallback option for when circumstances change, and things get dicey. I will use the choices you make here to inform and describe how your character would typically behave in a life-or-death fight as well as what weaknesses they would struggle to compensate for during a difficult battle or duel. Every Form has one weakness or another, so chose carefully. Furthermore, I will allow no more than one or two OCs total to take Form VII as an option because the teaching of the style is restricted amongst the Jedi due to the fact that it openly courts the Dark Side, at least according to what I have read. Finally, your character may take no more than two for the sake of balancing purposes. If you do not know the Seven Canonical Forms of Lightsaber Combat, then look it up. If you know what they are but can't decide, then PM me and we can discuss it.):

Appearance (Please include hair color (If applicable to your character's species), eye color, hair style (If applicable to your character's species), beard style and color (if your character has one and it's applicable to their species/likely for your character's gender), height, weight, skin color and body type as well as any tattoos or scars your character may have. The features of your character must be within the realm of physical plausibility and thereby possible for your character's species to have. I will not accept for instance a human with naturally bright blue hair and pink eyes because such physical traits could not possibly be manifested in any normal way by that particular species. Also describe what your character would typically be wearing. Outfits must be practical in some way, whether they be a Jedi tunic augmented with some borrowed armor to increase survivability or a more form-fitting outfit that is thin and lacks any major protection but allows for increased mobility and agility. When thinking about what your character would wear to a battlefield, please consider what Form of Lightsaber Combat they utilize and what style of armor would best fit that. Also, please be sure to include the colors of your characters outfit in their description.):

Personality (Be as specific as possible. I cannot stress that enough. If you believe you haven't written enough about the character, then chances are you almost certainly haven't given me enough info to do something with them. You must also be sure to include 3 or more character flaws and 3 or more character virtues, as I will be unable to use the character if you don't. Aside from that, also include the assorted odds and ends of how your character acts as a person. I will be using this part of the profile to try and inform myself on both how they would think and how they would both speak to, about, and otherwise treat others in dialogue as well as the approach they would likely take in trying to sort out a problem. So in short, I want more than a handful of sentences.):

Views on Individual Jedi (Here, I want you to explain how your character feels about certain canonical characters that they would have met, or you believe they would at least know about. Please try to write something for every notable member of Jedi of the current era, but if you choose not to, that is fine. I will simply presume that your character does not know that particular person all that well if at all. Obviously, your character will not be best buddies with most or even any of the canon characters, but they may at least have a mildly good relationship with one or two of them.

Background (Describe how the life of character has been up to this point. Of course, your character is certainly not some form of legendary hero at the present time, but that does not mean that they haven't had a harrowing experience or two up to this point. Keep in mind that I will not accept that is basically a copy of a canonical character's origin story should anybody send something like that to me. So if for example your character was young slave from Tattooine who was recruited into the Jedi Order because they were strong in the force even though they were technically too old to begin the training, than expect me to write you back and tell you to change it. I may do that even if it isn't totally the same, but still very similar. If your character has any scars or tattoos that aren't explained by cultural tradition such as with Mirialan facial tattoos, please explain how you got them and why. As A tip, when writing your background, consider whether or not what happened to your character in the past could have happened to just about any other person in existence who also serves the Jedi Order. If it could have, you are fine. If couldn't have, then you may need to change some aspect of your story.):

Views on the Jedi Order in General (I want details on how your character feels about the Jedi Code. What aspects of it does your character agree with, and what aspects does your character disagree with? Do they feel it is too restrictive or not restrictive enough? Or is it fine the way it is? In any of those three cases, why do they think so? You must also tell me whether or not your character is ultimately blind to the Order's failings (which I would count as a flaw, if you were wondering) or if you acknowledge and accept them. And what is your stance on the decision to allow for Jedi participation in the Clone Wars? Basically anything that your character would think about the Jedi as a whole should go here.):

Views on the Current State of the Galaxy (How does your character feel about the Galactic Senate, The Clone Troopers, and the Chancellor? Keep in mind that your character would have no reason to believe or even suspect that Palpatine is a Sith Lord, so please don't send me a character who thinks so based on what ultimately amounts to groundless accusations. Your character would know as much about him as the average Jedi. No more, and maybe less. Also use this part to describe your feelings towards the Separatist Movement. In short, put all your non-Jedi related political views here.):

Breaking Point (What would it take for your character to consider leaving the Order or even turning to the Dark Side? A love interest? The death of somebody or multiple people who were very close to you? Or would it be some kind of major betrayal either by somebody in the Order or the Order as a whole? I am not saying that any of that is going to happen, I just wish to know what level of mental and emotional trauma your character can cope with before they may snap. Please remember that almost no sane person has ever left behind or turned against everything they've probably ever known without some sort of good reason, so whatever you choose, make sure it isn't a trivial reason.):

_**Tendrils of Darkness, Shields of Light; Acceptable OC Jedi Character Species List **_

-Human - Taken

-Echani

-Clawdite

-Chiss - Taken

-Twi'lek

-Trandoshian

-Nautolan

-Noghri

-Mon Calamari

-Kel Dor

-Togruta

-Zabrak - Taken

-Mirialan - Taken

-Mireluka - Taken

-Barabel

-Cerean

-Cathar - Taken

-Iktochi

-Kaleesh

-Karkarodon

-Shistavanen

-Sullustian

-Bothan

-Vurk

-Rodian

-Nikto

-Weequay

-Quarren

-Tholothian

-Zeltron - Taken

-I am open to other racial suggestions...

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**Edit 1:****\- One person has already sent their character in and another three spots have been reserved for other creators. **

**Two spots left!**

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**Edit 2: I have only one spot left!**

**If you are interested, you'd best hurry!**

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**Edit 3: ****All Jedi positions have been filled, thanks again to everybody who sent in a character.**

**However, I am and still will be accepting OC Clone Troopers throughout the story, so if you want to send one in, it's never too late!**


	2. Jedi SYOC Closed!

**Hey Guys, I finally have or will have all the characters I need for now. **

**I would again like to take a moment to thank all the people who have helped contribute to my story on it's very first day. I was not expecting to get such a quick response, and I am so happy that I did.**

**Here is my final lineup:**

1\. Name: Barad Noza - Age: 25 - Species: Zabrak - Gender: Male - Rank: Knight - Forms: IV/I - Color: Green -Style: Single Saber - Creator: Transformers g1's-Prime

2\. Name:Jihehl Vesus - Age: 33 - Species: Miraluka - Gender: Male - Rank: Master - Forms: VI/VII - Color: Green - Style: Single Saber Creator: Terrific Acorn 

3: Name: Katea Ezabatu - Age: 21 - Species: Cathar - Gender: Female - Rank: Knight - Forms: V/IV - Color: Green - Style: Duel Sabers - Creator: Pixelfun20

4: Name: Athos Semper - Age: 19 - Species: Zeltron - Gender: Male - Rank: Padawan - Forms: II/VII - Color: Yellow - Style: Duel Sabers - Creator: Flaming Fate Zero

5: Name: Christoph Felinara - Age: 18 - Species: Human - Gender: Male: - Rank: Padawan - Forms: III/IV - Color: Blue- Style: Single Saber - Creator: Dogtimus

6: Name: Noria Ishkee- Age: 26 - Species: Mirialan - Gender: Female - Rank: Knight - Forms: I/VI - Color: Blue - Style: Double-Bladed Saber - Creator: Lawrence Cartwright

7: Name: Risk'iwaz'zruge (Also known as Riwazu) - Age: 27 - Species: Chiss - Gender: Male - Rank: Knight - Forms: II/V - Color: Green - Style: Single Saber - Creator: LDALDOL

**Now, I know I said I only wanted six, but in this case I was rather intrigued by the prospect of LDOLDAL's character and I felt it was unfair to cut off anybody who has expressed interest in my story, so I've chosen to make an exception this time. I also have ideas for what I can do with seven characters as opposed to six, so there's that. And finally, seven characters, seven Forms. I know it didn't stack up quite like that, but the symbolism was too good to pass up.**

**Once again I would like to thank everybody who has contributed, will contribute, or even for a moment considred contributing to my story. I love everything I have gotten so far and look forward to what some of you still have yet to show me. Be writing to some of you real soon!**

**I would also like to again remind all of you that even though the Jedi have been filled, I will soon be taking submissions for Clone Troopers, so please stay tuned if you failed to get a Jedi in, but still want to add to my story however you can!**

**Finally, due to real-life commitments, I will probably be unable to upload an actual chapter to this story until about mid-way through next week. But don't worry, it will come sooner or later.**

**Until next time!**

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**Edit 1: Still waiting for only miss trillian.**

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**Edit 2:** **All positions have been filled! Sorry miss trillian, but I was unwilling to wait any longer when everybody else had already gotten their characters in. **

**Also, in case you didn't get the memo, Clone Trooper OC submissions are open! Check it out by clicking next below.**


	3. Clone SYOC Open!

**Hello again everybody, as I have a little more time on my hands than I thought I would and everybody who contributed to the Jedi except one person has gotten me their characters, I've decided I'm going to open up Clone Trooper submissions a little earlier than anticipated. **

**Unlike with the Jedi, there are an unlimited number of Clone Troopers one may submit to this story but as with everything else, there are certain rules that must be followed. Those shall be detailed in the actual profile.**

** I have 5 OC Legions cooked up.**

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**1\. The 309th Battalion, otherwise known as 'Lion's Pride"**

**Armor Color Scheme: Khaki and White **

**Type and Specialties: Siege Infantry - Offensive and Defensive Siege Tactics, Urban Warfare, Close-Quarters Combat.**

**Jedi Officer(s): General Barad Noza**

**Commander Christoph Felinara**

**Ranking Clone Officer: Captain CT-9199/ 'Lion' -Creator: Lawrence Cartwright**

**Second-in-Command (Clone): Lieutenant CT-7908/ 'Talon' - Creator: Transformer's g1's-Prime**

**Other Members:**

**Sergeant CT-2247/'Rig' - Demolitions Trooper- Creator: Lawrence Cartwright**

**Corporal CT-6328/ 'Burner' - Heavy Trooper - Creator: A Terrific Acorn**

**Private CT-6123/ 'Cub' - Rifleman - Creator: Lawrence Cartwright**

**Private CT-5561/ 'Poncho' - Tech Trooper - Creator: Lawrence Cartwright**

**Flagship: Justiciar**

**Flagship Commanding Officer: Irena Nevera**

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**2\. The 882nd Dusk Corps**

**Armor Color Scheme: Black and White**

**Type and Specialties: Drop Troopers - Airborne Assaults, Rapid Tactical Insertion into Interplanetary Hot Zones, Nighttime Operations.**

**Jedi Officer(s): General Risk'iwaz'zruge/Riwazu**

**Clone Ranking Officer: Commander CT-7076/ 'Shade' -Creator: Lawrence Cartwright**

**Second-in-Command (Clone): Lieutenant CT-7474/ 'Noir' -Creator: MakeMeOrBreakMe**

**Other Members: **

**Sergeant CT-7408/ 'Gunny' -Assault Trooper- ****Creator: A Terrific Acorn**

**Corporal CT-3235/ 'Bam' - Demolitions Trooper - Creator: Lawrence Cartwright**

**Private CT-1434/ 'Clicks' - Medic- Creator: Flaming Fate Zero**

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** 3\. The 433****rd**** Legion**

**Color Scheme: Purple and White– All clone members wear a Kama and a Shoulder Pauldron.**

**Type and Specialties: Line Infantry – Search and Rescue, Planetary Relief and Support Efforts, Wartime Negotiation, HVT Protection.**

**Jedi Officer(s): General Jihehl Vesus**

**Commander Athos Semper**

**Ranking Clone Officer: Commander CT-8103/ 'Preacher' - Creator: A Terrific Acorn**

**Second-in-Command (Clone): Lieutenant CT-7421/ 'Kass' - Creator: UltraCommando0946**

**Other Members:**

**Corporal CT-2486/ 'Doc' - Medic- Creator: A Terrific Acorn**

**Private CT-9842/ 'Starboard' - Tech Trooper- Creator: Dogtimus**

**Private CT- 8908/ 'Dusty'- Heavy Trooper- ****Creator: Lawrence Cartwright**

**Flagship: Oracle**

**Flagship Commanding Officer: Mar-Toh Gyureft**

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**4\. The 98****th**** Armored Division**

**Armor Color Scheme: Brown and White**

**Type and Specialties: Armored Regiment – Full-Frontal Assaults, Mechanical and Technological Salvage and Recovery.**

**Jedi Officer(s): General Noria Ishkee**

**Ranking Clone Officer: Commander CT-8434/ 'Cog' - Creator: Lawrence Cartwright**

**Second-in-Command (Clone): Captain CT-8884/ 'Iron-Eye'- Creator: A Terrific Acorn**

**Other Members: **

**Sergeant CT-7532/ 'Peeler' - Heavy Trooper - Creator: Dogtimus**

**Private CT-1677/ 'Lucky' - Pilot/Driver - Creator: Flaming Fate Zero**

**Private CT-6767/ 'Panel' -Tech Trooper- Creator: Lawrence Carthwright**

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**5\. 203****rd**** Recon Corps**

**Armor Scheme: Forest Green and White**

**Type and Specialties -Recon Regiment – Scouting, Skirmishing, Long-Range Engagements, Reconnaissance and Surveillance, Covert Operations.**

**Jedi Officer: General Katea Ezabatu**

**Ranking Clone Officer: Commander CT-1959/ 'Predator' -Creator: TheDapperCat**

**Second-in-Command (Clone): Lieutenant CT-8111/ 'Ace' - Creator: Dogtimus**

**Other Members:**

**Sergeant CT-1157/ 'Harlequin' -Scout Trooper - Creator: Flaming Fate Zero **

**Corporal CT-5066/ 'Zee' - Assault Trooper - Creator: Lawrence Cartwright**

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**Keep in mind that the Jedi are generally the main POV characters for this story, but as with the Clone Wars Cartoon, I may decide to do clone or clone legion-centric chapters in the future. And of course, the clones will be reoccurring characters depending on the legion they are a part of and the Jedi I match them with.**

**As always, no Mary Sues and no flames please.**

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**WARNING: **_**Remember that your clone characters are fighting in a war, and in war, people die. I'm not saying I'm going to immediately kill them off if you send them to me, but I am saying their safety is not guaranteed. Please remember that going forward, as I would rather not deal with aggressive PMs that spawn as a result of my decision to inflict death upon a certain character. Of course, if you want to increase the likelihood that you have a character in this story even beyond the one(s) that die, send as many as you can. **_

**Tendrils of Darkness, Shields of Light Clone Trooper SYOC Profile**

Name (Must include a CT number at the very least, but a nickname is optional.):

Rank (If he is the Ranking Clone Officer, they must be either a Captain or a Commander. If the is the Second-in-Command, his rank will be Lieutenant. There can only be one Commander and one Second-in-Command per legion each. I will accept up to six ARC Troopers not counting the Commander with the rank of either Lieutenant or Sergeant per one legion, but Corporals and Privates are unlimited.):

Specialty (Pick from Rifleman, Assault Trooper, Medic, Heavy Trooper, Demolitions Trooper, Tech Trooper, Pilot/Driver, or Scout Trooper,. If he is the Commander or Second-in-Command, his specialty will be Officer):

Weapons (Your character's specialty should determine what he fights with on the battlefield. If he is an officer or ARC Trooper, your character can choose to Duel-Wield DC 17 Hand Blasters but can take a DC-15A or DC-15S instead if you so choose. If they are a Heavy Trooper, his primary weapon of choice will be a Z-6 Rotary Blaster Cannon. If he is a Scout Trooper, he shall sport the Valken-38x Longblaster. If he is a Tech Trooper, Medic, or Demolitions Trooper, he gets the DC-15S Blaster Carbine and a backpack or satchel filled with what they need to carry out their duties. Should he be an Assualt Trooper, he will carry a Scattergun (which is basically a shotgun) . If he is a Rifleman, he gets the DC-15A Blaster Rifle. All characters have at least a Vibroknife and one DC-17 as a sidearm. If he is a Pilot or Driver, that is all he will carry.):

Legion/ Group (Pick one from the five Legions/Groups above as the one your Trooper is a part of.):

Appearance (Obviously, he will look like a clone of Jango Fett, but I mean in what ways has he differentiated himself from his brothers? Has he dyed his hair? Changed the hair style? Maybe he grew his hair out or shaved it all off? Perhaps he has some sort of beard or mustache? Does he have any tattoos or piercings? What about scars? Keep in mind that only the First Battle of Geonosis has happened so far, so scars are unlikely, but not impossible. Also include a description of how he has painted his armor if he isn't a 'Shiny', but the colors must be the same as the legion or group he is a part of. Colors are listed above.)

Personality (Unless he is Clone Officer or Second, they do not need to be super detailed, but I would like more than three or four lines please. Include at least 2 or 3 flaws and virtues, but also be sure to write about the other aspects of your character.):

Background (How was life growing up on Kamino? If your character(s) have a nickname, how did he get it? Was your character at the First Battle of Geonosis? If so, did anything happen to them during the Battle? Nothing too out there please. It must be something that could have legitamently happened to literally any other clone. As always, details are appreciated.

Views on The Kaminoans (Your character's creators. How does he feel about them? Is your character(s) grateful that they have given them life? Or resentful that the Kaminoans have almost total control of that life, and can end it the second he prove to be more trouble than he is worth? Or does he feel some other way entirely? Your character(s) would have no way to know that the Kaminons have implanted chips in his brain, so I don't want to see anything about that.):

Views on other clones (What does your character(s) think of his so-called 'brothers'? How does he treat them and vice-versa?)

Views on the Jedi (Write a little about the Jedi as a whole. You don't need to, but you can cite specific Jedi your character(s) especially likes, or dislikes based on what he have heard about them. The emotions concerning them don't need to be stereotypically positive, but they don't necessarily have to be negative either. How would your character(s) treat their Jedi Officer before getting to know them better?):

Views on the Separatists (The enemy. Write whatever you wish that concerns your characters view of them.)

Dream (In another life or perhaps after the war ends, what would your character(s) wish to do with his life? They could just keep wanting to be a soldier, and that would be fine, or they may want to be something else. This can be answered in a couple or words or a handful of lines depending on how specific you want to be.):

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**Edit: Because I have been waiting for a couple of days now but still have yet to hear anything from them, I have decided to give miss trillian one more day to send me something. If I still hear nothing by tomorrow, I shall fill the final position myself.**

**In other news, I have two great clone characters so far and am anxiously awaiting many more, so if anybody has an idea, please send it!**


	4. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

Mace Windu rubbed at bleary eyes as he looked out the window before him, watching from far off through the shutters as a line of speeders congested the authorized lanes all around the Jedi Temple. And indeed as he observed this, it occurred to him that no matter the day of the week or how late the hour, he could never once recall a truly long lull in speeder activity excepting states of emergency for as long as he'd lived on Coruscant. There was always someone who was trying to go somewhere in the light of day as well as the darkness of the night, and whether it be because they rested during daytime hours or simply hasn't slept at all much like Mace at this very moment, they were determined to get there. Wherever 'there' was.

Judging by the first rays of light that were beginning to spill over the horizon and the subtle ripples in the Force as many of his fellow Jedi arose from their slumber and set about getting ready for yet another day, Mace estimated the time to be between five and six AM in the morning, meaning that it had now been approximately almost three days since he's last truly slept in any capacity. How could he? On top of his regular duties, which included lecturing, attending Council meetings, and overseeing conclaves with Chancellor Palpatine which were as long as they were frequent, sleep had already been a difficult commodity to come by. Now, he'd not only received the added duties of commanding troops and masterminding wartime strategies, but also been given the responsibility to assign Jedi to units of Clone Troopers. And then of course, there was the Spector of Level 4311 to contend with. No, rest had to wait for another time. Perhaps it would come when the war finally ended, but failing that, he could always sleep if and when he died.

He turned away from the window and advanced back further into the small meditation chamber he'd chosen to spend the last couple of hours in while he worked in relative peace, a circular room with little in the way of decoration and a complete absence of any furniture save for a trio of dark and rounded Bantha leather Ottomans that had been placed adjacent to each other in the center of the room. On the one closest to him, a datapad rested, its screen darkened due to being left alone for longer than a couple of seconds. After a moment, Mace picked it back up, tapped on it to awaken it, and reread a message sent to him for what had to be the twelfth time that day in which it requested that the Jedi Master select a member of the Order to assume command of the 309th Battalion, otherwise known as 'Lion's Pride' after their esteemed and seemingly fearless ranking leader. Mace forced down a small smirk as his thoughts momentarily drifted to Master Plo's very own Clone Officer and his so-called 'Wolfpack'._" It seems that you've started a trend. Well done, Wolffe."_ However, any amusement Mace had been feeling immediately died as he wondered not for the first time that day who he should send to the 309th.

He tapped on the datapad a handful of times, bringing up the profile of a middle-aged Ithorian whose portrait had been crossed out. _"It used to be Master Boeel, but that is no longer an option. The Spector made sure of that." _He swiped right, to an elderly Kyuzo,_ "Master Urdeney would have been a fine choice, but the battlefield is no place for him, not at his age. After all, as capable as he is, he isn't Master Yoda. No, he's far better off looking after the Younglings and safeguarding the future of the Order…"_ Another swipe, this time to a Talz in her early twenties._ "Knight Xic seems to care more about tasting glory than she does the lives of the clones around her. If I put her in charge, it's almost a guarantee she'll get herself and likely most if not all of her men killed at a rate that the Kaminoans will struggle to replace. At least Master Krell's been getting results, whether she would is dubious, at the very best." _Swipe, A Sullustian in his mid-twenties. _"Knight Osherd. A great Jedi and a better man, but an awful leader. His intentions will irrevocably be in the right place no matter the situation, he just won't have the faintest idea how to deal with any of it. He's better off working alone or in small groups and virtually everyone knows it."_

Mace had just been about to swipe once more when a shift in the Force compelled him to lift his eyes towards the door to the room; it's only entrance and exit. Where a being was making its way towards the door at a mild pace. Near immediately, Mace relaxed as his registered the familiarity of the signature. Not a moment later, a figure opened the door and stepped into its entry way.

"I must admit, I did not expect to find you all the way down here, especially not at this early hour." Jedi Master Ki-Adi Mundi quipped lightly, a cup of caff clutched in his right hand. "While I do not begrudge you your affinity for brooding, surely you could have done that just as well within the comfort of your quarters, no?"

Mace scowled, "I do _not_ brood, I ponder."

Ki-Adi chuckled as he exited the doorway, brushing past Mace, and settled himself down on the Ottoman to Mace's right. "I suppose that's also correct, from another point of view."

Mace suppressed a sigh before taking a seat opposite the old Cerean Master. "Whatever the case, my personal peculiarities are ultimately irrelevant to the true purpose behind this conversation. I highly doubt you came hunting for me first thing in the morning just for the sake of a social call."

Ki-Adi only smiled and sipped at his caff. "My my, am I truly that transparent?"

"Yes."

"Well then, I guess I can kiss my future as a professional Sabacc player goodbye… Alright, you caught me." Ki-Adi raised his arms in mock surrender, "I was actually here to inquire on behalf of the rest of the Council as to whether or not you had an update concerning the trouble brewing on Tar Torgrias; have you heard anything from Master Vesus or Padawan Semper as of late?"

"As of a matter of fact, I have." Mace replied. "They are scheduled to arrive in the Donodas System within the next couple of hours, and they know to check in with me once they do."

"I don't like it." Ki-Adi told him, "The paranoia of the denizens of Tar Torgrias is matched only by their superstition, which has greatly worsened since the recent death of their king. They did accept the notion of protection from the Jedi Order after years of coaxing, but only just barely. And even now, we advise any Jedi sent there not to tarry too long lest some exceptionally xenophobic locals try to arrange for a 'mysterious disappearance' or two. And then there is the matter of the planetary authority…"

"Be that as it may, they are still part of the Galactic Republic, and so still subject to the services of the Jedi Order." Mace countered.

"Only nominally, according the Torgriasians themselves." Ki-Adi said thoughtfully, "And if the rumors of Separatist sightings on the planet are to be believed, they may not be for much longer."

"Unsubstantiated rumors," Mace reminded him, "We have no proof beyond the grumblings of disgruntled political opponents and a couple of low-quality recordings that are questionable at best. We will know better once Master Vesus and Padawan Semper are planetside."

"Any back-up in case things get out of hand?" Ki-Adi inquired, taking another sip.

"But of course," Mace nodded, "Aside from the 433rd, which will be standing by in orbit above the planet, I've also notified Knight Riwazu of the circumstances. Should things escalate beyond what we are currently expecting, the 882nd can be on-site within a couple of hours once they finish up on Ando Prime. But you know Riwazu, if he has any say in the matter, they will be done and at Tar Torgrias far faster than that."

"Yes, I know." Ki-Adi murmured ruefully, "I know all too well." He then took a great gulp of his caff.

After a moment of debating whether or not he should breach this particular issue, Mace thought better of it and instead chose to change the subject. "I've selected Master Boeel's replacements concerning the investigation into the Spector, and I plan to present my choices to the Council later today."

"Replacements, plural?" Ki-Adi perked up, looking thoughtful. "Hmm, yes, I suppose that's for the best. Every single Jedi we've assigned to deal with the Spectre has wound up dead sooner or later, so perhaps assigning a pair or more to the mission will yield more fruit."

"Or at the very least, make a little more headway into the investigation before they too perish." Mace concluded.

"Somebody's feeling optimistic." Ki-Adi drawled sardonically.

"Well, given that we have three dead Jedi Masters as well as one Knight on our hands and a grand total of zero suspects, you'll have to forgive me if I am feeling less than hopeful at the moment." Mace snapped sternly.

Ki-Adi leaned in, "So, who are the lucky winners?"

In response, Mace's fingers scuttled across the datapad before he handed it off to his colleague.

The Cerean Master took one look at the datapad before his eyebrows rose, then his eyes returned to Mace and he turned the datapad over in his hands to show him what he'd just seen. "These two?"

"Those two."

In place of the 309th's message, there were now two profiles aligned side-by-side. The holopictures included were head and upper-body shots, with some basic information written to the right of each photo.

In the left holopicture was a Cathar woman with long dark blonde hair that had the consistency of a mane flowing over her shoulders, several thin braids upon one side framing her face, eyes that were angular and pale green in color and thin, pale tan fur that lightened around the eyes, nose, and pointed ears. Ki-Adi couldn't tell the full scale of her musculature based on just what he could see, but her torso looked slim while her shoulders were broad, and she wore a light tunic of the typical Jedi fashion. She was both twenty-one years old and looked it. She was also apparently quite tall for a woman, standing at about 5'10 ft high. Atop the profile was text box that read '_Name:_ _Katea Ezabatu' _and below it was smaller box with _'Rank: Jedi Knight'_ written inside.

In the right was a Mirialan woman with medium-length ebony black hair that had been styled into a layered bob and then tousled a bit to give it a little extra flair. Her eyes were a brilliant, gentle blue and her skin though so like an actual Human's in texture was actually a deep green in color. Her features had an aristocratic bent to them, with high cheekbones, full lips, and an aquiline nose that gave her a graceful and elegant sort of beauty. And adorned upon her face were the tattoos typical of her people's culture, with ink in the shape diamonds comprised of four smaller diamonds underneath each eye, a thin line that crossed over the bridge of her nose to either side of her face connecting them. Also, upon her chin was yet another diamond made of diamonds but much smaller in scale, with a pair of chevrons pointing upwards to the curvature of her lower lip. On the center of her forehead the style was inverted, with a small diamond of diamonds closer to the hairline and two chevrons pointing downward towards her nose. Her upper body was on the slimmer side and appeared to be sinewy and toned. She was wearing a dark blue crop top of the sort that was relatively common amongst the younger female Jedi these days such as with Master Secura and Padawan Tano, though hers lacked sleeves and a strap of the fabric curled over her left shoulder but her right was completely bare, the cloth tight enough to stay in place simply by hugging her body. According to the info, she was twenty-six years old which put her at half a decade ahead of her of counterpart. She was also a little shorter, standing at about 5'7 ft tall, though that was still above average in terms of typical height for those of the feminine persuasion. Her two text boxes read _'Name: Noria Ishkee'_ and _'Rank: Jedi Knight.'_

Ki-Adi Mundi stared down at the datapad in quiet contemplation, silently evaluating Mace's chosen investigators. "… To be honest, I had thought you would be assigning Masters to the job, not Knights."

Mace shook his head, "We are stretched too thin at the moment, so regrettably some of the higher-tier missions must be taken up by Knights in their stead. Regardless, I believe that those two will be more than up to the task."

"You will find no argument from me concerning Knight Ishkee; though she may have inherited some of the late Master Grrova's more… _undesirable_ tendencies and habits, she also acquired many of his beneficial interests and skills, and would be nothing less than a superb asset to have on a mission such as this. No, my own trepidation concerning this duo is centered on young Ezabatu. Though the Order may consider her a Knight, the truth of the matter is that she still has much to learn yet. She is as naïve as she is inexperienced, and while I have no doubt that Master Korvits trained her to the very best of his ability, I cannot help but feel as though he still has one more lesson or two to teach her." Ki-Adi explained.

"Perhaps," Mace conceded, then pressed on with a vengeance, "But you know as well as I that enlightenment is not achieved solely through spending enough time with one's Master. Occasionally, it is necessary that one learn the fundamental truths of the Jedi and their place in it for themselves, and in such cases it is not a Master but a fellow student who can be most helpful. To start with, I believe that Ishkee can be but one of the first of many who may help Ezabatu on her path. Ishkee is older and more experienced, but they are still relatively close in age, and have the potential to relate to each other in some ways that they never could have with their Masters. I mean no disrespect to Master Fisto's teaching skills nor those of Master Kenobi, but I fear that if she is influenced any longer solely by Knights such as Vebb and Skywalker, she may end up adopting all the wrong views. By glimpsing what her immediate potential future could be through learning both from Ishkee's triumphs and mistakes, then Ezabatu could grow both as a Jedi and a person beyond what she could have previously."

"Alright, alright," Ki-Adi raised his hands in a gesture of conciliation, though the effect was somewhat ruined by the fact that both the aforementioned appendages were rather full. "I see your point, and I imagine the rest of the Council will as well, once you appeal to them." With that, he handed the datapad back to his Human compatriot.

Mace nodded, taking it readily, "I am pleased you saw things my way." Mace turned his attention back to the datapad, grimacing when it beeped to remind him that the 309th's message still needed tending to, as it did periodically every few hours. It was but one of many messages that was capable of doing so and very often did, much to his chagrin. He looked again at Ki-Adi, and an idea struck him. "Master Mundi, could you assist me with something?"

Ki-Adi, who had only just finished his café in the intervening seconds, shot Mace a questioning expression. "Of course, whatever with?"

"The 309th," Mace tapped on a document that had been included with the letter, and then engaged the holographic projector so that both of them could see what it held.

"Ah, right. Now that Master Boeel has become one with the Force, they will be in need of a new leader." Ki-Adi recalled, "Two dead Jedi Generals in a month and change. With a turnover rate such as that for this unit, one may think the Force is trying to tell us something. Perhaps that close-quarters combat is an exceptionally dangerous duty, and as such, we can expect a continually high rate of Jedi casualties where units such as this are involved? Or maybe that it has willed this particular battalion to fall into the hands of another?"

"Or both." Mace replied. "Though as I recall, Master Boeel died in an event unrelated to the battalion, and Knight Rodi proved himself more… unqualified than we anticipated. Had it not been for his Clone subordinates, I imagine the unit would have been a total loss."

"Ah, the clones. Tell me, which subordinates do you speak of?" Ki-Adi asked.

Mace brought up the personnel files of the 309th and scanned for the names he sought. He didn't need to look far, for as could be expected, they were at the top. He opened up another pair of profiles, and then altered the settings so that they could be read from both the front and the back, for Master Mundi's viewing pleasure. "The first would be CT-9199, ranked Captain, though his brothers call him 'Lion'." Mace gestured to the clone on his left and Ki-Adi's right, who was distinguishable from his brothers through the thick beard that coated his jaw, and the long, shaggy dark hair that was almost certainly beyond regulation limits. He looked a bit scruffy but no less dangerous than any other clone, with a lopsided smirk upon his face and eyes that were alight with an unspoken challenge, daring somebody, anybody, to come and try to ruin his day. "He got his nickname on Geonosis, where he was reputed to have fought with a kind of feral ferocity that could only truly be matched by a wild animal. Persistent and skilled at improvisation, he rarely gives up once assigned a task either by himself or somebody else and adapts to rapidly changing or unexpected situations with an ease that both Jedi and fellow clones find enviable. After Knight Rodi made an extreme tactical blunder in ordering a full-frontal assault on a heavily entrenched position, the result of which killed him as well as many of his men, and cut the rest of the battalion off from allied lines when a nearby force of droids wrapped around the flank and caught them in a pincer maneuver, Lion is credited with rallying his subordinates and leading them out a situation that others might have deemed hopeless. The very same day that CT-9199 became 'Lion", the 309th began to call themselves 'Lion's Pride', and it stuck." Mace shifted his attention to the other profile detailing another clone, this one the spitting image of the now-deceased Jango Fett, save for the fact that a chunk of his right earlobe was all but missing. "This one is Lieutenant CT-7908, though he goes by the name 'Talon', after a uniquely-shaped vibroknife gifted to him by a favored instructor."

"Interesting," Ki-Adi noted, "I would have assumed that he'd gotten his name in conjunction with his Captain; do not many dangerous predators have sharp talons that they rely on for both combat and the procurance of sustenance?"

"Even without the talons, they often also have a maw of sharp teeth as well, which can be enough for some." Mace replied then continued, "Talon is known for his exceptional discipline and by-the-books style of leadership, which occasionally puts him in conflict with Lion's more fluid and reactional way of doing things. Despite this, the two of them share a close bond secured by the shared weight of their responsibilities and are a force to be reckoned with upon the battlefield."

"I see," Ki-Adi murmured in thought as a hand stroked at his beard. wondering who he could possibly assign to such capable Troopers. He smiled as the answer came to him. "Let me take a look at that." He pointed towards the datapad, to which Mace complied without hesitation. Once in his hands, Ki-Adi pulled up a roster of available Jedi and scrolled through the list, scanning at a quick and efficient rate. He found the name he was looking for in no time at all, brought the corresponding profile up, and showed it to Mace who barely glanced at it before giving his answer.

"No."

"Yes."

"He's not ready."

"They never are." Ki-Adi smiled sadly. "I wasn't, nor were you. Master Kenobi and Knight Ishkee certainly weren't, but we all found our way, eventually."

"He's different." Mace persisted, "You saw what happened to him afterwards, same as I did, and the shock alone nearly killed him. For the longest time, the Healers weren't even certain whether or not he'd wake up."

"But he did," Ki-Adi responded gently, "And the Healers have since cleared him."

"Only physically," Was Mace's counter, "His mind is clouded, and even now the darkness looms over him, watching for just the right moment to take hold… but then, it's been that way for the longest time." Mace finished after a moment, "Since he got back from his stint trying to take down a spice syndicate four years ago and discovered that the Council wasn't everything he thought it was, he's been hanging on the fringe. He doesn't understand that sometimes the surest course of action in pursuit of justice is not always the most aggressive or immediate one, despite being told so multiple times by you, me, other members of the Council, and even Master Yoda himself. Or that politics has a much larger part to play in our decisions than some of us might be aware. Now, I don't like it any more than he does, but that is the way things must be if we hope to do our duty as Jedi."

"The youth never understands at first," Ki-Adi admitted, setting the datapad down beside himself, "but they usually come to learn, in time."

"And before Geonosis, I would have given him the exact same benefit of the doubt, but now I'm not so sure. Losing his Master changed him in a way that I've never seen before with any other former apprentice. His devotion to the Order was wavering before this, and though now he continues to follow us as he always did, how can we be certain that it isn't just because of a change in motives? Revenge isn't the Jedi Way, Master Mundi, but it looks to me like he may not understand that either." Mace snapped.

Ki-Adi fixed his colleague with a firm expression, "We can't give up on him, Master Windu, not yet. We have to keep trying to help him find his way, to keep offering him our hand no matter how many times he may bat it away or fail to recognize it when its extended to him, and continue to look for the best in him even in the worst of circumstances. And yes, I know what happened last time I tried to believe the best in someone, I know what it may well have cost me… but that changes nothing." His posture straightened, his eyes were now resolute, "He is a member of our Order, and as such, we cannot and will not leave him to the darkness. Not without a fight, anyway. Now that, I believe _is _the Jedi Way."

"Lovely words, Master Mundi, but they do not excuse the fact that whatever time he doesn't spend skulking in the shadows of the Temple and bitterly reminiscing on his Master's death as well as our potential failures as a Council is used to try and convince his Padawan to adopt a more militaristic outlook under the guise of lightsaber training. At least until he decides that he wants to go back to seething and starts ignoring the aforementioned Padawan like he usually does outside of the Lightsaber Dojo. I swear, that boy is his saving grace. If it weren't for him, I do not think I would be able to tolerate such negligence towards a young Jedi, freshly dead Master or no." Mace uttered, hands clasped tightly together before him.

Ki-Adi took a glance out the window, before refocusing on Mace, "You are being too harsh on him, given the circumstances, but I do agree with you on account of the boy. Thus far, while it has been futile, his continued attempts to try and reach his Master passed the layers of grief and anger have been nothing but admirable. However, it is clear that his chances of succeeding are slim to none without help."

"And your definition of 'help' is sending the boy and his Master straight into a warzone?" Mace asked, cocking an eyebrow.

"Not how I would have put it, but yes." Ki-Adi answered, "Look, I understand your concerns, but just letting him lie about stewing in his own juices can't end well for anyone."

"I beg to differ," Mace interjected, "At least if he blows up here, other skilled Jedi including myself will be around to handle it. There will be no such reassurances if we let him loose into the field."

"Well like it or not, we need all hands on-deck for this war, if we are to have any chance of winning it." Ki-Adi continued, undaunted. "Besides, being sent back into the field might be good for him. It would remind him that even though his Master may be gone, his legacy and life's work is not, and that there are some things left in this galaxy that are still worth fighting for. And while I don't like how he has been going about it, he is right to some degree about the boy." He held up a hand as Mace glowered sharply, "Let me finish. You know that while Padawan Felinara's aversion to violence has always been an accepted and even praised quality by his peers and instructors, he has also never once been put in a position where his dedication to the Order has been tested at the most basic of levels. Though we are peacekeepers, there are times where we must fight and even kill to preserve the lives and rights of the innocent. Christoph has never had to do that, but the times are changing, and in some ways, he must change with them. We need to know which he holds dearer; his own moral values or the welfare of the people besides and behind him, and there is no better way to test that than in the field."

Master Windu was silently mulling this over, seeing Ki-Adi's points but still reluctant to concede.

"Master Windu, what have we always been taught to do when all seems dire and nothing is certain any longer?" Ki-Adi prodded, sensing that victory was near.

"…Trust in the Force." Mace answered slowly.

"Trust in the Force." Ki-Adi repeated. "You must believe that the Force shall guide him and Padawan Felinara onto the right paths, but you need to let it first. If you do not, neither shall ever live up to their full potential or embrace the Order respectively, and we shall have well and truly failed them not only as fellow Jedi, but also as people."

"… Fine." Mace relented, "But, you still need the approval of the rest of Council, and at the first sign of trouble, I reserve the right to pull one or both of them out, am I understood?"

"Perfectly," Ki-Adi stood up, "Now if you'll excuse me, I do believe I am in need of a second cup of caff." He cast a glance filled with faux agitation at his currently empty cup, before looking back at Mace. "I shall leave you to your ruminations, see you at the meeting in a couple of hours." And with that, Master Ki-Adi Mundi turned and exited the room the same way he came.

And indeed, Mace was left with nothing else to distract him from his thoughts.

Not the first time, Mace wondered how many Jedi he would be willing to let this war take. The conflict on Geonosis alone had claimed the lives of roughly two hundred of their number, and between the Spectre, the early battles that have been fought in the last month and a week since war was declared, and the already considerable hazards that came with simply being a Jedi, it looked like the death toll would only keep rising, and nothing less. So how many more Jedi would need to die?

Mace looked at the datapad one more time, proudly displaying the name _'Barad Noza'_, and the rank_ 'Jedi Knight'_ . Below it in smaller letters was another name and rank, _'Christoph Felinara, Jedi Padawan'_, After which he rose from his seat and left it behind.

Stepping back towards the window, he watched once more as the many peoples of Coruscant went about their lives, and the answer came surprisingly quickly. _"To preserve the Galactic Republic and safeguard it's people, as many as it takes." _He decided, _"For so long as even one of us still yet lives to carry on the fight and stand against the Dark Side, the war shall not end, not by a long shot. Balance shall come eventually, we merely need to endure until the time is right."_

* * *

**Hey all, I hope you enjoyed the very first actual chapter of my story! As always, I would love to see whatever constructive criticism you all would have to give me, but no flames please.**

**And of course, I'm still looking for some Clone Trooper OCs as I am DESPERATELY in need of some, so if any of you have ideas for one or more, write it up and send it to me as soon as possible. Details on how to make them are in the previous chapter. Thank you in advance!**

**Until next time.**


	5. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

'_Breath in, hold, then breath out. Let the Force flow around me, over me, passed me, and through me. Now focus in and seek out the threads that streak through all of creation like a vast and elaborate spiderweb, just as my Master taught me.'_ Christoph Felinara thought to himself as he knelt at the very center of a Training Room, which was an exceptionally large, square chamber that was entirely bereft of any furniture whatsoever and had a rather high ceiling. Currently, the only source of light through which Christoph could see was coming from the massive window that took the entirety up the entirety of the wall before him, which bathed his front in light but left the corners of the room and much of the space behind him clouded by shadows. At his Master's summons, he'd come here early yet again even though it wasn't even eight AM, and had spent the last twenty minutes deep in meditation just as he'd been instructed to do when he was meant to wait with nothing to preoccupy himself with.

His Master was running late again, but that was to be expected, for rarely was he precisely on time these days. Sure, occasionally he was, just like during old times. More often than not however, that was not the case. Sometimes he came even earlier than Christoph had, likely having already been in room when he'd com Christoph to wake up and join him. Other times and most frequently, he was fashionably late, arriving anywhere from a few minutes after his Padawan had to almost an hour beyond the agreed time. And most rarely but still not an unheard-of event was when his Master simply chose not to show up at all, leaving his Padawan to mediate in a gargantuan, empty room alone. When Christoph had asked him about that, his Master had deigned to explain (in one of the infrequent instances where he decided to do so these days) that he was teaching Christoph patience and obedience; the former gained through waiting an unknowable and varied length of time, the latter simply by showing up precisely when his Master told him to. Christoph hadn't truly believed it deep down at the time and he still didn't even now, but it was a credible enough excuse that Christoph had chosen to simply let sleeping Anoobas lie. After all, any conflict the two of them had engaged in since Geonosis had always ended with no major breakthrough in their relationship, so why would then have been any different? Well, that and Christoph simply didn't want to fight, just as he had never wanted to at any point prior to then for so long as they had been Master and Apprentice.

With a low sigh, Christoph opened his eyes and temporarily broke meditation as he found himself too distracted to continue, and immediately locked eyes with his own reflection staring into the radiant blue eyes of a young Caucasian Human man with pale skin, medium-length wavy ginger hair that had been swept to the side, and a Padawan braid peeking out from behind his right ear. This person was dressed in cream-colored clothing with a dark brown undertunic and pair of boots with a single lightsaber hooked to his side. He stood at about 5'11 but didn't weigh very much, being built for speed rather than strength, and could have been considered attractive in a conventional sort of manner. The visage Christoph saw now was the same face that he had grown used to observing years ago, given that he saw it every time he looked in a mirror and no doubt would continue to be seeing it at intermittent intervals for the rest of his life, however short or long that might be.

Immediately, Christoph felt his head jerk up as a spike of danger from the Force coupled with the signature _snap-hiss_ of an energy blade being activated and the sight of an emerald green lightsaber being swung at him from behind thanks to the glass sent his reflexes into overdrive. At a speed that most minds would struggle to comprehend, Christoph felt his hand snatch the lightsaber off his belt, brought the weapon up over his head, and slammed down on the ignition, his brilliant blue saber blaring to life only just in time to stop a swing that would have otherwise taken his head off.

Or rather, it would have if this had been a real fight.

Lightsabers that had been set on low power mode such as the two of theirs could create a rather nasty burn at the most but no more than that, so this exercise was quite safe… mostly.

"You've gotten faster," Said a voice, quiet, gruff, and intense; his Master. Christoph turned his head and strained to look at him over his shoulder, both of their faces illuminated in the saber light. Knight Barad Noza was a Zabrak as evidenced by the row of horns that ran along his hairline, with tired-looking eyes that were as dark as night, much like his hair which was tied in a topknot, and skin that was mildly tan in complexion though that was offset somewhat by the multiple hues of skin-colored tattoos common to the Zabraks born on Iridonia upon his form. He was about 5'8 feet tall, with a muscular physique, and wore a dark tunic, breeches, and boots as well as a beige undertunic. "But you're still not fast enough."

With that, Barad, dropped low with a spin and aimed a slash meant to cleave squarely through his Padawan's midsection as Christoph simultaneously moved off his knees into a crouch and pivoted to face his Master, swiftly blocking the swing as he brought his saber around in a tight arc. Realizing that a prolonged ground game would play on one of the weaknesses of his chosen Form, Ataru, Barad swiftly disengaged from the fight only to surge right back in the instant Christoph moved to his feet in an effort to surprise him. To his credit, it worked, just not as well as Barad would have hoped. Thanks to the many long hours Christoph had spent honing his own Form, Soresu, his body instinctively knew what to do even as his brain momentarily froze up, parrying five lighting quick blows sent to his head, left arm, right leg, chest, and neck as he started building up his momentum. Barad weaved right, trying to break through Christoph's defense simply by circumnavigating around it, unleashing a low swipe at his opponent's right calf in effort to slow him down. Christoph responded by sailing into a side kick centered on Barad's chest, attempting to buy himself half a second to reorganize. Christoph's Master simply chose to take the blow, his hardy Zabrak biology allowing him to shrug it off without so much as flinching. Quickly, Christoph retracted his leg just as his Master's saber flicked past in a deft motion that would have otherwise sliced it off had this been actual combat. In a daring display of skill, Barad than leaped into the air, calling on the Force to propel him over his opponent while simultaneously swiping downward at Christoph's face. Without a second of hesitation, The young Padawan raised his blade even as he was stooping to lessen the impact of the blow before attempting to clip Barad's kneecap, a venture that ended in failure as the Zabrak Knight turned his leap into a roll and safely landing on his feet before he twirled around and launched a myriad of attacks that pushed his apprentice back several steps. Finding his footing in less than three lightsaber exchanges even as he plucked up some courage, Christoph halted his retreat and attempted to meet his Master head-on. He felt a small pinprick of satisfaction through the Force from Barad as he skidded to the side, sliding his blade off his Master's before bringing it down in one swift motion. However, that satisfaction flashed to disappointment as Barad realized that Christoph wasn't attempting to hit him like he'd thought but was actually aiming for his saber with the intention to disarm him. A single rapid adjustment later, Barad changed the angle of his blade to catch Christoph's and then stayed in place, resulting in a blade lock.

Combat came to a stop as they both stood there, the encroaching sunlight outlining them as it gradually crested the horizon, slowly but surely painting the room in it's warm glow, the solemn neutrality on Christoph's face matched only by the grim vehemence on Barad's.

They stood like that for but a few seconds longer before Barad pushed off and then stepped back several paces, putting some distance between them. Christoph for his part chose not to follow, settling himself back into a ready stance with a quick flourish of his blade. Whatever attack he'd been expecting never came, as his Master deactivated his blade, flipped the hilt once, and reclipped it to belt, virtually all in the same motion before crossing his arms.

Christoph, seeing an end to hostilities, copied his Master sans the flip, stood up straight, and waited. Externally, he was calm, collected, and utterly still as was what would have been expected of him within a learning environment. Internally, he was hoping that this time would be different, and his Master would actually congratulate him on the prowess he showed, or at the very least give some helpful critique beyond 'fight harder' or 'By the Force, just attack me already'.

"… Absolutely terrible." Was what he got instead as Barad shook his head. "You're still not listening to me."

"No Master," Christoph muttered lowly, keeping his expression serene even as his hopes were dashed… again. "Sorry Master."

"Sorry? You're sorry?" Barad scoffed, "Fat lot of good 'sorry' is going to do you on the battlefield; do you think the enemy is going to take it easy on you just because you might apologize to them for being an inept combatant? Unless they are a B1 battle droid, the answer is almost certainly 'no'. You would do well to start heeding my words if you don't want to end up as nothing more than a rotting corpse laying on a half-forgotten battlefield in the middle of nowhere. As things are now, you aren't going to last long out there."

Christoph kept silent, letting his Master finish his small tirade, for now was not the time to make light of this situation with pithy comments or clever remarks. Maybe such things would have been acceptable with him in the past, but not now, not anymore.

"Forget it," Barad sighed, massaging his temples, "Class dismissed." With that, he turned and made for the exit, leaving his Padawan behind him. He hadn't made it five steps before their holocoms beeped, signaling that both had just received a message, a wave of motion then followed in which they endeavored to dig the devices out of their respective pockets. Barad was faster, and as he stared down at the device in his hand which indicated a message sent directly from the Jedi Council, he visibly debated whether or not to ignore it.

Childish and impudent as he knew it to be, Barad occasionally chose to ignore the Council whenever they deigned to summon him, as a minor show of defiance to a group that bordered on redundancy and obstructed their way of life in his opinion. It was something Christoph knew he'd been doing on-and-off for about four years now, and thus far, the Council had yet to reprimand him. He couldn't be sure of why, but he suspected some of the more sympathetic members of the Council such as Master Mundi, Master Fisto, Master Plo, Master Ti, or even Grandmaster Yoda in his infinite wisdom had something to do with it; perhaps as a show of respect to the late Master Fey'lya? However, things had changed when the war broke out, as before they would usually let it go for half an hour or so and a call or two before they sent somebody to collect them. Now, Master Windu himself made it a point to track Barad down when he wasn't too busy trying to fight a war, in which case he would send Master Koth or Master Tiin in his stead. Other times, they would simply notify Christoph and send him to find his Master. Privately, Christoph suspected Windu and Co. much preferred to search for or contact him instead of Barad anyway, given that he was considerably more obedient than his Master and probably more pleasant to converse with as well. Eventually, they started sending whatever messages that were meant for Barad to both of them simultaneously, thus increasing the chances that someone (Christoph, more often than not) would respond.

One more second passed before Barad seemed to come to some sort of internal decision and accepted the message. Not a second later, a hologram of Master Windu appeared in the palm of Barad's hand, looking as stern and austere as ever, his low voice filtering into the room. _"Knight Noza, you have been selected to participate in our wartime efforts against the Separatist Movement. On behalf of the Jedi Council and by way of the Galactic Senate, we have hereby seen fit to award you with the command of the 309__th__ Battalion; 'Lion's Pride' and have assigned the Venator-class Star Destroyer 'The Justiciar' is to be your personal flagship. You and your Padawan are to report to Docking Bay 17 by 1100 hours today, where you are to meet the Officers under your dominion, as well the Admiral charged with control of 'The Justicar', do not be late." _Windu stressed, making mention of Barad's _other_ bad habit concerning orders from the Council. _"Take the rest of the day to familiarize yourself with your ship and your men, they know to be expecting you. Tomorrow, I shall contact you with your first assignment. Until then, may the Force be with you." _

Windu's figure vanished into thin air, and they were left in silence. Glancing down at his own holocom, Christoph put it back in his belt as chances were that his message was just of copy of Barad's with some words changed around, but little else.

Barad had already stowed his own holocom and was nearly to the door by the time Christoph had looked back up, but paused just as he reached it, "Are you coming?"

"What do you mean?" Christoph hastily checked his chronometer, "We aren't due for another two and a half hours."

"Perfect," Barad replied as though that completely answered Christoph's question, stepping out of the room and turning on to a path that he knew would take him to the Temple hanger at a relatively quick speed. "I'll drive."

Christoph hesitated a moment more, before he began jogging after his Master. He had to be there pretty soon anyway, what difference would a few hours make? "Hey, wait for me!"

* * *

**Hello everybody, hope you enjoyed the second chapter of this story!**

**I'm sorry that it's a bit shorter compared to my last chapter. It was originally going to be longer, but I wanted to get something out by today so I hope nobody minds. In other news, I still desperately need some more Clone OCs, so if anybody has any more ideas, feel free to send them in.**

**As always, reviews are welcomed and encouraged. Thank you in advance, and until next time.**

* * *

**Edit: Hey guys, just letting everybody know that I will be a bit busy for these next couple of weeks, so don't expect another update until mid-to-late December. Really sorry, but I have to much going on at the moment. Until then!**


	6. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

_Click-clack…click-clack… click-clack!_

"Stop that."

_Click-clack…Click-clack!_

"Stop."

_Click-clack!_

"I said stop, dammit!" CT-2247, also known as 'Rig', snapped at his compatriot. Clearly, he was nearly at the end of his rope.

CT-2328, or 'Burner', turned his helmeted head to look at his Sergeant, then glanced at the lighter held loosely in his left hand. Being the reticent sort of person that he was, he said nothing. Instead, the ghost of a teasing smile appeared on his face. Nobody could see it, but that didn't matter.

…_Click-clack!_

Rig roared wordlessly, finally losing his temper, then swiveled fully to face Burner. "That tears it!" He pointed his finger directly at the source of agitation. "As soon as we're finished up here, I'm assigning you such a copious amount of latrine duty that you're gonna spend the rest of your life smelling like a refresher!"

"Ah, lay off him Sarge, he's just bored. And frankly, I am too; this place has been dead for hours. I haven't seen a single being since we got here." CT-5561, Poncho, looked up from the datapad clasped in his right hand. He'd found a chair somewhere earlier that morning and had moved it to the to the right of the door they had been assigned to guard, where he'd spend most of the morning sitting and either using the holonet or staring down the long, bland grey hallway one needed to take in order to get to Docking Bay 17. Occasionally, he'd taken his DC-15S Carbine out from under his signature poncho and checked it, making sure that it was still primed and ready for the prospect of very sudden and incredibly violent combat, but had been doing that less and less as the hours wore on.

This was in sharp contrast to the fourth and last member of their little squad who stood ramrod straight to the left of Poncho on the opposite side of the door, shifting on his feet in the white and khaki armor that they all wore as members of the 309th Battalion and nervously fidgeting with his DC-15A Rifle for what had to be the umpteenth time that morning, as though he was worried that the charge would disappear from his gun the moment he wasn't looking. "…Um, I don't mind that…" CT-6123, 'Cub', murmured timidly, shrinking in on himself even as he mustered the courage to speak. "It's very peaceful and quiet…"

"And you," Rig's accusatory finger whipped to Poncho, completely ignoring Cub, though they all heard him. "Don't think I don't know what you've been doing on that datapad all morning! Contacting your lady friend, are we? What was her name again? Cherry, Cranberry, Cumquat, something like that."

"It was Chaeandra, sir." Burner supplied lowly, tucking his brass-colored lighter emblazoned with the head of a roaring lion into one of the pouches on his belt as he shouldered his Z-6 Rotary Blaster Cannon with his other hand. He and Rig were a little ahead in the hallway, standing in alcoves on either side which gave some cover without sacrificing their view of any possible encroaching threats.

"I-Isn't she that one dancer who came-" Cub started, only to find himself being cut off by Rig.

"'Dancer' is not the word I would use to describe her profession." Rig interrupted pointedly, fixing Poncho with a look. "Correct me if I'm wrong here, but I'm pretty sure most dancers have much more… conservative outfits."

"It depends on the dance." Poncho replied defensively, holding the datapad a bit closer to his chest. "And last I checked, that is still a form of dancing."

A moment of tense silence followed, before it was broken by Cub of all people. "… I support their relationship, sir."

"As do I." Burner added, glancing at Cub.

Rig sighed long-sufferingly, relaxing his posture a bit, "And as long as nobody has passed regs against it when I wasn't looking and it doesn't detract from your ability to perform your duties, I supposed it really isn't any of my business… How are you even dating someone, anyway?"

Now there was a question that Burner had more than once considered since this whole war began. See, normally, dating doesn't factor into the life of a clone. For most of them, their lives consisted almost solely of marching from one planetary murder fest to the next, the little downtime they are allotted being spent attending to equipment, mourning losses, inducting the newest batch of 'Shinies' into the unit, and keeping up with the training regimens, which were very much mandatory. And that was before one factored in both how exceptionally hazardous simply being a soldier was as well as the shortened lifespans every clone had. Most clones, even if they had the time to date, often don't when considering such information. After all, how was it fair to make somebody fall in love with you when you were probably going to be dead within the next couple of years? And even if you did survive the war, it doesn't change the fact that a couple decades down the line, you would be going senile while your partner for the most part would probably still be in their prime. Love hurts enough as it is, no need to make it worse by adding the rapid aging that comes with cloning into the mix.

But of course, there always were some like Poncho who didn't really care about all that and chose to try and love somebody in spite of the challenges. And while it wasn't really something Burner had ever thought about doing, being the rather uncomplicated sort of man with straightforward life goals that he was, he could respect it at the very least.

"Long-distance relationships are a thing, sir." Poncho went back to staring at his datapad, "That's how."

"And her j-job still doesn't bother you in the slightest?" Cub wondered aloud.

Poncho shrugged his shoulders, "Hey, a woman has to eat some way. Besides, I think what matters most is that there is an actual spark present in our relationship. You'd be surprised how many girls are put off by the fact that millions of people have the same face as you."

"He's got a point there." Burner grunted, looking back down the hallway (like all of them were supposed to be doing).

Rig seemed like he was about to say something more but was silenced by the sound of Poncho's wrist bracer beeping loudly.

"Looks like we're going to have some company after all," Poncho noted, staring intensely at the info being displayed even as he stood up, his hand holding the datapad vanishing under his cloak and reappearing a second later grasping his DC, "Security just clocked a pair of humanoids headed our way; a Zabrak and a young Human, both male."

"H-How young is 'young'? Younger than us?" Cub hesitantly inquired, looking between his fellow guards.

"Don't know," Poncho replied, alternating between using a free finger to tap at the pad and gazing down the hallway, "The sensor isn't that advanced."

"So you can tell that being is young, but you can't give us details on exactly how young? How does that make sense?!" Rig thundered, looking back at his subordinate.

"Sarge, please don't shoot the messenger. I'm just telling you what the system told me." Poncho answered, body language signaling his exasperating,

"Well, the system is garbage then." Rig declared, "How fast would it take you to install a new one?"

"Well, not so fast that I can do it before our visitors arrive, that's for sure." Poncho glanced at Rig, before looking back to the hallway, "I'm a combat engineer, not a miracle worker."

"Focus." Burner cut in, hefting his gun off his shoulder. "How much time do we actually have?"

"They will be here in… three… two…" At the other end of the hallway, the only other door slid open, and the aforementioned pair stepped through, "One." Poncho finished quietly.

From Burner's position, he could tell right away that they were Jedi, based on the clothing they were both wearing and the lightsabers hanging from their belts. He apparently wasn't the only one who noticed, as he immediately heard Rig's voice over helmet comms, "Poncho, remind me, were we due to have anybody from the Order check with us?"

"Yeah, but not now." Poncho quickly communicated back, "These guys are way too early."

Burner scowled under his helmet. "I don't like it."

"You don't like a lot of things." Poncho snarked without hesitation.

"I-I'm sure they have a good reason for coming so soon… If those are the Jedi we were expecting, I-I mean." Cub reasoned awkwardly, somehow managing to look even more twitchy than usual.

"Maybe it's just that these Jedi apparently don't understand how schedules work." Poncho speculated with an edge of sarcasm to his voice.

"Whatever the case, we will know soon enough." Rig concluded, all business now.

The two Jedi were walking almost side-by-side, with the Zabrak on the left and but a single step ahead of his taller compatriot who had what Burner thought to be what was called a 'Padawan braid', his posture hunched like a predator getting ready to pounce. His expression was neutral, but his eyes flashed with distaste the moment he spotted the clones. Besides him, his Human associate appeared to have sensed the downtick in his mode, fixing him with a look of concern, but otherwise keeping quiet.

Several moments of silence passed before they made it to just in front of where the clones had positioned themselves, upon which Rig was on them at a moment's notice.

"Halt!" Rig stepped forward out of the alcove and into the center of the hallway, putting a hand up in the universal sign meaning 'stop' and switching off private communications. "Identify yourself and state your business." He commanded.

"… Jedi Knight Barad Noza," The Zabrak, apparently called Barad growled contemptuously, "Here to assume command of the 309th Battalion, now get out of my way, _clone_." He spat like the word was an insult.

"Not before I see some ID, _sir_." Rig matched him with equal rancor, rather bravely not backing down in the face of somebody who could probably make his life miserable in the very near future.

"Do you see this?" Barad pointed to the weapon on his belt, "This right here? It's called a lightsaber, which is the weapon of the Jedi, who I am pretty sure as a whole are your direct superiors. He has one too." He thumbed back at the Human behind him.

"I have one too." The Human echoed, speaking for the first time since this conversation started.

"And you are?" Rig questioned, turning to regard him and flat-out ignoring his shorter companion, which did not seem to go over well with the Zabrak based on the look on his face.

"Jedi Padawan Christoph Felinara, I'm with him." Christoph nodded to Barad, before reaching into his tunic and fishing out the necessary information for this exchange, "Here is my ID."

Rig took it, looked it over critically, nodded to himself, and handed it back. "You're clear."

Barad glared at Christoph, clearly communicating his feelings of outrage and minor betrayal without saying a single word, before turning that glare upon the clone in front of him. "And?"

Rig for his part just leaned back, giving off the impression that he was growing disinterested with this exchange. "And what? Your weapon doesn't prove anything. You know who else has a lightsaber? Count Dooku, General Grievous, Asajj Ventress, and of course, the Dark Acolytes." He listed, then sighed. "Look sir, this is all standard procedure. You could be the Chancellor himself for all I care, and I would still be required to ask for your info. Otherwise, we could have a security breach and I don't know about you, but I'd rather not have to deal with that. So if you could, please do us all a favor and show me your ID so we can get on with our lives."

By this point, Barad looked absolutely murderous, but he complied after a moment, practically shoving his ID into the clone's hand. "… What's your number and rank, soldier." Barad queried lowly, staring daggers.

"CT-2247, ranked Sergeant," Rig informed him crisply, "But everybody calls me-"

"I do not require your silly little nickname, CT-2247." Barad remarked, tone cold but eyes blazing. "I'm going to remember you."

"See that you do, sir." Rig replied noncommittally, tone completely unbothered, giving Burner a mild shock. "Anyway, you are also clear. As soon as we're done here, I will take the liberty of registering your IDs with the 309th's internal systems, so that we won't have to do this ever again." He casually tossed the card back to Barad, who caught it without any trouble. "I shall radio ahead to inform Lion and Talon that you have-"

"That won't be necessary." Barad cut him off curtly, already moving passed Rig before he'd even finished speaking.

"Then at the very least, you should allow us to provide you with an escort." Rig attempted to insist.

"I think I will do just fine on my own." Barad hardly even glanced back, "Christoph, come." He ordered.

As apparent Master and Apprentice came to stand before the door, it smoothly glided open, revealing a massive hanger in which an array of activity as a variety of workers rushed back and forth through what could best be described as controlled chaos, overseeing maintenance on the gargantuan Venator-class Star Destroyer that dominated the room. Here and there, small pockets of clone troopers were also milling about, patrolling, chatting with each other, and occasionally stopping to help the workers as needed. The appearance of two Jedi immediately garnered some attention from those nearest to the door, but most either lost interest or had to return to their assigned duty. Burner watched through the opened way as Barad strode forward with purpose, paying no mind to what was going on around him. Christoph on the other hand was dragging his feet somewhat, trying to drink in all the dizzying sights and sounds, and utterly mesmerized by the sight of 'The Justiciar' in all her magnificent glory. Barad, noticing his Padawan lagging behind, called back to him. Burner was now too far away to hear precisely what was said, but he caught sight of Christoph racing to catch up just before the door closed.

The instant they were out of sight, Rig turned to Poncho, "Call in and tell them that the Jedi have arrived."

"But General Noza ordered us not to." Cub interceded.

If we're being technical here, he didn't actually give us any sort of order, he just said that it wasn't 'necessary'. As he's about to discover, I profoundly disagree." Rig told them, "Now get on that com."

* * *

CT-9199, 'Lion', had only just gotten up from his desk when without preamble, CT-7908, 'Talon', burst into his study, his helmet under one arm. "Captain, the Jedi-"

"I know, just heard the news myself," Lion fixed Talon with a grin that was a mix of apologetic and amused, getting up from his desk and crossing to the left of it. "Sorry, but it looks like we're going to have to go ahead and skip that big welcoming ceremony you were planning. Don't worry, I'm sure you'll get another chance to deliver that incredibly motivating if deeply intimidating two-and-a-half-hour-long speech of yours real soon."

"Don't count me out just yet," Talon rebutted, looking determined, before moving to join him, "It's not too late for me to pull off something hastily cobbled together and a bit belated."

"'Hastily cobbled'?" Lion cocked an eyebrow, "That doesn't sound like the Talon I know at all. I'm the one who improvises shoddy, poorly made plans that still somehow work out, not you. You're all about careful tactically-sound planning and the sort of textbook execution that would have made our old trainer back on Kamino weep tears of indescribable joy. What happened?"

"I learned from watching the best," Talon remarked, before stepping forward to place a hand on his captain's shoulder. "If it makes you feel any better, I'm at no risk of turning into you, that would be a fate I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy. Instead, I'm just… borrowing from your playbook."

"Playbook? What playbook?" Lion pondered, an edge of satire to his voice, "I don't have a playbook."

"Sure you do," Talon insisted, removing his hand, "I used to think you didn't either, but Geonosis proved me wrong."

"Yeah…" Any mirth on Lion's face immediately died at the mention of that blasted sand hole, he found his vision wandering off his brother's face to the all too familiar contents of his study; a small and cozy if drably colored room with light panels configured symmetrically around it where the only furniture was a desk that was overloaded with way too much paperwork which was arranged in a way that Lion knew made perfect sense to him in its organization but probably looked like a trash compacter fire to everybody else, and a single not terribly comfortable but also not utterly uncomfortable chair located behind the desk. To either side of the room aside from the door to the hallway outside were two other doors, one leading to a refresher and another to an equally sloppily kept personal quarters. All that is what Lion struggled to focus on as his memories threatened to pull him back to the past, where a cacophony of blaster fire mixed with the feeling of coarse sand beneath his feet that would occasionally kick up into the air as the result of an extremely close explosion, coating his armor and obscuring his vision as it congealed into a dense cloud and threatened to overwhelm his senses. Intense sunlight beat down on his armor, cooking him from the inside, and his ears filled with the screams of dying brothers, intermingled with the inane, barely coherent, and borderline suicidal of orders of Rodi, which would kill so many more people before the day was out. Far too many… "… Geonosis…"

He snapped back to reality, shaking himself from dark times that had no place in the here and now. He reached over to pluck his helmet off his desk, the one thing on it that anybody would have been able to locate easily. He felt the eyes of Talon watching him, sternly appraising him, able to recognize that the recollection of Geonosis had some manner of effect on his brother. Talon was about to breach the subject, to talk about things that Lion just wanted to let die. Geonosis would always be remembered as a time of reckoning for him, for while he had never felt more alive then when he'd been blasting away at clanker after clanker after clanker, the sight of so many brothers that he'd known his entire life dead and half-buried in sand as the result of one moronic man's orders spoiled what should have been a sublime victory. When the fight was over, he hadn't felt any gratification from it, at least not in the same way some of his brothers had. No, he'd only felt tired. And angry. "Come on, there's no chance we can catch them in the hanger, but we should be able to reach them just before they get to the bridge."

Talon's expression soured mildly, clearly put off by the change of subject, but Lion knew even before he said anything that he would drop it in favor of a possible future discussion. After all, they had Jedi to meet. "After you then, sir."

* * *

Barad had decided that he was not having a great morning.

First, he'd spent the previous night wrestling with the nightmares that had been continually plaguing his dreams since the war started and had awakened that morning feeling even more exhausted then when he'd gone to sleep in the first place. Then, his Padawan had once again shown him such an utterly lackluster lightsaber performance that had there been a reward for combat-based mediocrity, Christoph Felinara would definitely have been nominated at the very least. And finally, he'd arrived at the destination assigned to him by the oh-so-perfect and indeed utterly flawless Jedi Council only to be accosted by sub humanoid filth who to him were frankly worth less than the air they choked down day-in and day-out…

His Padawan was looking at him again, gaze full of worry and concern, and Barad wondered if now would be the time that his dear Padawan finally grew on spine and decided to engage him for once but quickly wrote that off as improbable, for Christoph practically never engaged him on anything if he could help it. Christoph was too passive, too dedicated to defending when in this troubling age, the only way to secure victory was to attack. A good defense was never the best offense despite what the Jedi may say, and while Barad had always suspected as much, the moment of his own Master's death was also the very same moment that he'd confirmed it to be true.

After a brief foray through the docking bay and then entering the ship via a large ramp leading into the Venetor's loading bay and the attached vehicle depot, Barad has quickly found himself traversing one of the Star Destroyer's many hallways. He'd never been on this particular ship, but he'd traveled enough to understand what the basic layout would look like based on previous experience with spacecraft of a similar caliber. And after a brief, curt exchange with one of the non-clone workers back in the hanger, he'd managed to procure a map of the 'Justiciar' for himself and an extra for Christoph. So, he figured his chances of not getting lost were pretty good, all things considered.

All around him, the ship was buzzing with life as thousands upon thousands of lifeforms went about their morning, attending to whatever responsibilities had been thrust upon them by someone or other, each signature in the Force completely distinct from the last. It was dizzying, trying to take it all in, to catalog and remember every last one without being blinded by it. Why did other Jedi do this? Submit themselves to this torture? He could understand why the likes of Skywalker would try, his signature eclipsed that of a supernova, burning white hot and detectable even from the other side of any given planet. With that kind of power, it would be paltry affair to sift through every last life and note it down for future reference. But for anybody else, to do such a thing had to be near maddening, and yet he'd already heard of plenty of Jedi such as Master Fisto, Master Kenobi, and Master Secura who'd done just that. He'd also heard that Master Plo for one had made a point of doing it, and while he wasn't Kenobi, it was hard for Barad not to respect a Jedi with a resume as impressive as his. However, what truly bugged him most of all was that any of them even bothered to do so. Clone life was synthetic, false, fake, a result of the Kaminoans using technology to pervert the Force. There was nothing natural about them, not even the differing Force signatures. In fact if anything, the presence of such differences which indicated that each of them had their own soul only made it that much clearer how thoroughly the Kaminoans had twisted the natural way of things to suit their own ends.

By his own estimate, they weren't too far from the bridge, and should have been coming on the turbolift that would take them there any moment now. In all honesty, he didn't really care much for this meet-and-greet nonsense. It's not like he needed to be best buddies with any of these people to destroy the enemy, and he certainly wouldn't ever call any clone 'friend', but the Council had ordered it, so that was what was going to happen. Still, they never told him in what order he had to go about it, so he planned on putting off the meeting with the clone commanders as long as possible in favor of finding the admiral first.

Unfortunately, it was not to be, as when they turned into the corridor that ended with the turbolift they were looking for, a pair of clones were waiting for them, both dressed in the white and khaki of the 309th with motifs reminiscent of a lion, and judging by the shoulder pauldrons and kamas, they were definitely of a higher rank than the goon squad back at the docking bay entrance. Both were armed, though one appeared only to have a pair of DC-17 Hand Blasters while his comrade had a DC-15A Blaster Rifle slung over his shoulder. Also, neither was wearing his respective helmet, each having tucked theirs under their arms.

The first one with the hand blasters looked scruffy and unkempt, with loose long dark hair and a thick beard. To Barad, in his armor and with his weapons, he kind of seemed like he would be a shoe-in for the title of 'Galaxy's Most Dangerous Hobo', if such a thing even existed.

The second, who had the rifle, sported what he'd heard was the 'standard clone' look; clean shaven with a high-and-tight haircut, but he differed from his brothers in that he was missing a good deal of his lower left ear.

Barad was considering ducking back behind the wall he'd just passed, dragging his Padawan along with him, and waiting for them to hopefully go away when Hobo looked up from what appeared to be a conversation with Half-an-ear and spotted them near immediately.

"Ah, there they are," He told his comrade, gesturing with one hand at the two Jedi off-handedly, before moving that same appendage in front of his comrade, palm up, "You lost the bet, now pay up."

"What?" Half-an-ear exclaimed, body language signaling bewilderment, "What bet? We didn't bet anything."

"Oh yes we did," Hobo persisted, crossing his arms, "I bet that if the Jedi showed up less than five minutes after we got here, you would owe me twenty credits. If they got here any later than that, I would be the one to owe you. Don't you remember? We talked about it on the way here."

"I remember that part," Half-an-ear put a hand on his hip, "Though, I also recall telling you that all troopers are prohibited from gambling while on duty, and that if you ever suggested such a thing to me again, I would be obliged to give you the tongue-lashing of a lifetime."

"I outrank you. I'm pretty sure that means you don't have the authority necessary to do something like that."

"Whether I technically do or don't is irrelevant. Even if I can't, I'm going to do it anyway."

"Wow, you really are taking pages from my playbook which apparently exists, aren't you?"

Besides him, Christoph leaned in, whispering, "What's with them?"

"I don't know nor do I particularly care," Barad muttered back, "Looks like the clones disobeyed me."

"… Yeah, it seems so." Christoph responded tacitly, trying not to be overheard.

Barad sighed lowly, then turned his attention to the two beings before them. "Hey, unless either of you have something you want to say to us, beat it. I don't have time for nonsense."

"Yes sir!" They both immediately turned fully to face Master and Padawan, snapping to attention, though Half-an-ear was slightly quicker and much crisper about it.

"Apologies General, Commander," Hobo nodded to them in turn, "It seems we've forgotten our manners, I'm CT-9199, Captain of the 309th Battalion and as of today, your direct subordinate. As you may have gathered from this unit's nickname, I go by-" Barad opened his mouth to cut him off before he could utter that ridiculous name of his, but a subtle nudge in the Force instead had him glancing back at Christoph who was shooting him a warning look. For a second, Barad didn't know whether to be proud or annoyed, but found his mood improving ever so slightly. "-Lion."

"And I'm CT-7908, Lieutenant of the 309th and his second-in-command," The clone formerly known as Half-an-ear gestured to Lion, "If anything happens to him, or if he's preoccupied with taking care of other tasks, I'll be here to assist either of you. People call me Talon." No nudging from Christoph this time, just an exchange of glances, but it was enough for Barad to continue to hold his tongue.

Barad watched as Christoph, perhaps sensing that this conversation would either go nowhere or deteriorate very fast if he continued to let his Master loose on the clones, stepped forward and tried to take control of the situation. Barad chose to let it happen, well aware that he could easily shut his Padawan down in seconds flat if he wished but eager to see how Christoph would conduct himself once he was in the driver's seat. "It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, I'm Jedi Padawan Christoph Felinara, and this is my Master, Barad Noza." Christoph diplomatically introduced Barad who grunted at the sound of his name but added nothing more, "We apologize for arriving so early, I do hope it wasn't too much of an inconvenience for you."

"Not to worry Commander Felinara, It's no trouble for us." Lion took notice of a meaningful look coming from Talon,"Well, _most_ of us anyway."

"Oh please, there's no need for titles here," Christoph held up his hand, smiling sheepishly, "Off the battlefield, you can just call me Christoph."

"Will do, kid." Lion returned Christoph's smile with a mighty grin.

"Kid?!" Christoph's smile strained somewhat, his eyes conveying his shock and embarrassment.

"That's Lion for you, sir." Talon waved his hand half-heartedly in Lion's direction, "Give him an inch and he'll turn it into a kilometer."

"A skill that has served us well in the past and will serve General Noza and the kid well in the future," Lion turned and reminded him, grin only widening, "Besides, you can't deny that he has quite the baby-face."

"Baby-face?!" Christoph couldn't be more aghast. This was not how he pictured this conversation going at all.

Barad felt a corner of his mouth tick upward at this exchange, but quickly quashed it down before anybody could notice. "As amusing as watching this is, I believe we have somewhere to be. My Padawan and I shouldn't keep the Admiral waiting, I'm sure he has quite the timetable to keep."

"Her." Lion corrected, "The Admiral is a she, and you've already thrown her schedule out of whack simply by coming sooner than she expected you to. Speaking of which, any reason for doing that or simply because you felt like it?"

"I don't think I need to explain myself to _you_." Barad growled irritably, causing Lion's grin to slide from easygoing to fierce and Talon to tense up.

"That's-" Talon started.

"You know, I'm quite curious myself," Christoph interfered before a fight could possibly start, trying his best to play peacemaker, "Why did we have to come so ahead of the set time? It's not like there was some great incentive to coming so early."

"Christoph," Barad turned to his Padawan, "A Jedi is never late nor early; he arrives precisely when he means to."

"But you scold me whenever I'm late." Christoph countered.

"Jedi Padawans are the exception to the rule." Barad amended.

"Well, whenever you arrive late to a Council meeting-" Christoph persisted, but was unable to finish.

"Regardless," Barad pressed forward over whatever his Padawan was going to say, "We must be on our way." He turned back, regarding the clones in his way, "And I suppose I cannot convince either of you to leave us?"

"Not a chance!" Lion answered immediately, unconcerned that the argument he'd been expecting had apparently been defused.

"No sir." Talon echoed, glowering at Barad but restraining himself.

Barad grimaced, unenthused at spending even more time in the company of these clones beyond what seemed necessary. _"I suppose I could try to Mind Trick them into compliancy, but I can only do it one at a time. Plus Christoph's here, and that probably wouldn't go over very well with him…' _Barad sighed, "… Very well then."

He brushed past the clones, Lion immediately turning to flank his left shoulder while Christoph was on the right, Talon falling further behind to Christoph's right and one-by-one, they filled into the turbolift. Being closest to the control panel, Lion tapped the uppermost button with a flick of his wrist and the doors shut behind them, leaving them in an area spacious enough to fit at least a squad and a half of men. A couple of seconds after, there was a slight shuddering beneath their feet, signifying that they were now well on their way up.

"So…" Barad turned at the sound of Lion speaking, while out of the corner of his eye, he could see Christoph and Talon starting up a conversation of their own. Lion was still had that grin firmly on his face, his teeth pearly white, and his eyes were aglow with a spark of mischief, "You come here often?" He asked with a hint of mock interest, well aware that this was Barad's first time here, but purposefully asking him a stupid question.

Barad suppressed yet another sigh. This was going to be a long war.

* * *

**Hey everybody, as my way of making up for the considerable wait, my longest chapter yet, just for all of you! This took three days to write, so I'm hoping this was well worth the absence. As always, I'm still accepting Clone OCs, so take a gander at the list and maybe consider contributing or adding further to it, if you so wish. **

**And of course, a review and/or follow would be deeply appreciated.**

**Until next time! **


	7. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

He couldn't have gotten out of that turbolift fast enough.

Even with its enhanced width, Barad had still felt rather unedge within its confines. The efficiency of his primary Form, Ataru, tended to suffer dramatically within enclosed and congested spaces, where he would not be able to execute more or less all of the kinetic acrobatic maneuvers integral to the fighting style effectively. That, and he didn't like being this close to the clones at all. Barad had immediately wished he'd gone against his instincts once the doors had closed and the one who was seemingly in charge had hit him with that pitiful attempt at humor. Since then, he'd ignored anything said to him by either one of the Jango Fett copies at any point, utterly tuning them out to the best of his ability. Lion., to his credit, had figured it out on his second attempt and was now contenting himself with simply staring at Barad's back, studying the Jedi Knight meticulously and seemingly denoting every little detail to memory. Upon feeling the eyes on him, Barad had turned to look back and scowl at the clone who was to be his chief officer and was met with a wide smile in return. Lion, he was learning, had some manner of grin for almost every situation. Happy grin, sad grin, angry grin, embarrassed grin, and probably many more. He'd only seen one or two of those so far, but he was willing to bet he wouldn't have to wait too long to see the rest. It reminded him a little of Master Fisto, whose penchant for smiling no matter the situation had always annoyed him to no end. Why was that man always so cheerful? What did he have to smile about? Barad had no idea, and never had for that matter. So Lion wasn't really winning any points with him at the moment, but to be fair, his chances were pretty poor to begin with anyway.

The grin Lion was giving him now was sheepish, but his eyes had flared with challenge, as though he were daring Barad to say something. Barad could sense no malevolence from the clone, merely curiosity, minor agitation (the simple presence which was unsurprising but also surprising in that it was such a small quantity), and some level of… humor? It was as though he found something about this encounter funny, but Barad for the life of him couldn't figure out what it was. Honestly, this clone weirded him out a little bit.

He'd flinched at the sound of metal scraping against metal, changing shoulders even as one hand darted towards his lightsaber but had stopped short, his pointer finger only gracing the sleeve rather than outright removing it from his belt as he realized what was happening. Talon had not yet bothered him as Lion had, and Barad could see why as he and his Padawan were still deep in conversation, of which Barad had only paid attention to a stray sentence here and there but otherwise wasn't really listening. Apparently, the conversation had drifted to how Talon had gotten his name, and the clone had responded by drawing a talon-shaped vibroknife in order to show it to Christoph and muttered something about how an instructor on Kamino had gifted it to him. That had been the raking sound he'd heard, it seemed. Seeing that there was no present danger, he'd relaxed, his movements so minor that neither his Padawan nor Talon seemingly noticed, but somebody else definitely had. Lion was still gazing at him intently, eyebrow cocked and grinning with amusement, but otherwise hadn't moved a muscle in the entire time that Barad's attention was off him. Barad had simply grimaced and returned to intently ignoring these blasted mockeries of Human existence.

He'd stalked out of the turbolift the instant it had opened, subtly trying to put some distance between himself and the clones but failed almost instantly as he felt the presence of Lion right at his heels, following him like a trusty hunting hound, Barad got the feeling that this would be a frequently reoccurring event for the foreseeable future. Talon and Christoph were slightly slower but not too far off, still conversing about something or other, their pace slowing as they spoke.

They were instantly in a grey and austere-looking War Room, with a large holotable bolted to the floor in the middle of the chamber with a row of holostations both to his left and right that stretched from one end of the room to the other, and where a half dozen technicians and junior officers were working diligently at their assigned tasks. Most of them ignored the new arrivals, too busy taping away at the holopanels to spare much of a glance anywhere else, and so momentarily remained frightfully oblivious of the Jedi and higher-ranked clones in their midst. Eventually however, one of them; a clone wearing the blue uniform which marked him as a member of the Bridge crew took notice of the new arrivals and gave a nod which was returned readily by Christoph just before Lion waved the clone officer off. Barad ignored it and Talon looked as though he wanted to say something, but chose not to for the sake of expediency as they were already half-way through the room by that time, Barad choosing to go straight to the Bridge itself rather than tarry where he was not required.

They advanced through an open blast door into a half-oval-shaped area where just as before, a number of people were going about their business. Just as before, panels looped from one end of the room to the other, hugging the walls all the way through. This trend was likewise continued in the quadrilateral-shaped grooves cut into the floor where a variety of navigators sat at their stations, staring at blue screens and typing on grey consoles interspersed with white lights. having hushed exchanges with other individuals located all over the ship while checking and rechecking work that had either been done earlier that morning or continuing with what they still yet had to do. Around these grooves, there was a total of three walkways; two on the far left and right of the room respectively and one right down the middle. At the end of the latter stood of slender, light-skinned woman dressed in the crisp grey uniform of a Galactic Republic Admiral, who from the rear looked to be older based on the long, stark white hair that had been stylized into a neat bun. She had her back to them, and as Barad and his retinue approached, she gave a datapad she'd been holding to one of her clone aides and sent him on his way with a few muttered words. The aide passed them, stopping only to execute a hasty solute before rushing off to fulfill whatever order were given to him, barely giving any of them time to respond. Of the four, only Talon managed to mimic the aide's movement perfectly, as years of training, quick reflexes, and an intense devotion to the rules of social engagement kicked in. Christoph tried, but ended up doing it rather awkwardly, having only a rudimentary understanding of military etiquette, and ended up saluting air as the aide was simply too fast for him. Lion's was lazy and half-hearted, well aware that they both had duties to attend to but that while manners should not be ignored, nor does that mean that they need be perfect in situations such as this one. Barad straight-up didn't bother, for he would sooner go streaking in public and then have the entirety his skin peeled off bit-by-bit than ever salute a clone, so greatly did he detest them.

The Admiral turned to face them, her arms going into a reverse arm fold, and Barad felt one of his two hearts stop even as the other stalled, for there was most beautiful woman he had ever seen in his twenty-five years, well surpassing any other that he'd ever had the pleasure (or displeasure) of laying eyes on. Not that he had much in the way of experience with the gentler sex that he could compare her to, mind you, for most of the women he could reasonably say he knew were either other Jedi or scumbags. Jedi are off-limits for very obvious reasons and scumbags are, well, scumbags, but that was neither here nor there…

She was not the seasoned old void dog that he had been expecting, but rather a young Echani woman of his age or maybe a little bit older, with perfect lips, a strong nose, and a jawline so sharp it could cut glass. Her eyes were an icy and piercing silver that seemed to see straight through Barad, like she could flawlessly spot every little detail of his life or any secrets he might have had and knew them even before he'd said a word. To other men with a less developed sense of bravery, simply looking her in the eye would have been too intimidating a prospect to stomach, but Barad found that her eyes were quickly becoming his personal favorite of all her features. Her milky white skin was flawless save for a pair of faint and tiny scars, one just below the center of her bottom lip that curved ever so slightly to the right, and another that cut only barely across her right cheekbone. She stood at about 5'7 ft. and upon her left breast was the ranking badge of the Republic Navy, with three red dots on the upper row and two blue dots on the lower and holstered at her side was a DL-44 Heavy Blaster Pistol. Typically, most non-clone high ranking officers were still given the standard issue DC-17 Hand Blaster, but certain military officials of an extremely high rank were given the option and privilege of choosing to select and carry their own personal weapon. Aside from the sylphlike frame, much of the rest of her body was engulfed by the uniform, giving him no real idea as to whether or not she had any other defining features. She still looked absolutely amazing in it though…

He immediately slammed down on his mental shields for fear that Christoph or even another Jedi somewhere else on the planet might identify what he was feeling at the moment, and he couldn't have that. At the very least, it would entail a very thorough lecture from the Council on attachment which he'd heard so many times from so many different Jedi that he could probably assemble an amalgamation of all the best lines taken from each talk into some kind of speech, and then give it without any hesitation or flaws both forwards and backwards… in about three hundred and twenty-nine different languages. One may think that is a bit excessive, but the truth of the matter was that not forming any sort of deep or even romantic attachment to anybody whatsoever was a very common problem that many Jedi of all ages and ranks often grappled with for much if not all of their lives. In fact, aside from the sociopaths who are normally weeded out and expelled from the Order before they can do too much damage, very few are able to find the balance between compassion and apathy both quickly and accurately. That sounds like a contradiction and to the average Jedi Novice, it is, but is legitamently not impossible. It just requires a very deep understanding of one's true self, thereby allowing them to master their emotions. However, stating it in a way such as that is very simplified and sounds way easier than it actually is, because it in fact details hours of mediation and contemplation with no guarantee as to when one will actually find their inner balance, if they ever even find it at all. Furthermore, a part of him was afraid of what Christoph would think. Sure, these days he couldn't care less what his Padawan thought most of the time, but obviously this was different. He knew that being eighteen years old, Christoph was an adult and fully capable of making his own judgements and decisions. However, the Master in Barad couldn't let this become an example he wanted to set for his Padawan. Furthermore, he wanted to investigate what was going on here. It was rather selfish, and, in all honesty, he was already sure he knew what was happening in laymen's terms, but he still wanted to take a look. Why? Why her of all people? He'd seen dozens, maybe even hundreds of breathtakingly gorgeous women over the course of his admittedly short lifetime, so what about her was so different? He couldn't understand the finer points of what was happening to him, and that frustrated him immensely. He had to know what made her stand out from everybody else, and why the mere sight of her affected him in a way that nobody ever had before.

Christoph must have felt it, for he shot Barad a curious look, but let it go a moment later, likely figuring that his Master had his own reasons for doing what he did as always.

"General, Commander," She nodded in turn to Barad and then Christoph, her voice a deep contralto that only added to her potential as a terrifying presence within the chain of command. "Lieutenant," Talon stood at attention as he was acknowledged, but did nothing more. And then her gaze fell to Barad's Captain, and the corners of her mouth curled downward with disdain, "… _Lion."_

Just when Barad thought that Lion's infernal grin couldn't get wider, the universe decided to prove him wrong. "Sup Irena, it's good to see you too."

"Oh, here we go…" Normally one would expect as strait-laced a clone as Talon to be appalled at such a severe lack of military decorum, but instead he just looked resigned. It seemed that whatever was happening was a rather common occurrence.

"That is Admiral Nevera to _you_." The newly christened Admiral Irena Nevera snarled, tone frosty enough to freeze flame.

"Uh, pardon me," Christoph hesitantly inserted himself into this conversation, Force help him. "But it sounds as though you two have a history together."

"We sure do." Lion exclaimed exuberantly, gesturing at the Echani Admiral, "She loves me."

"I'm seriously considering shooting you right now." Irena deadpanned, tone betraying her mounting exasperation.

"Come on, you know I didn't mean it like that," Lion remarked, holding his hands up over his chest in a sort of surrender, "My feelings towards you are utterly platonic."

"You are not helping your case." Irena decided, glare in no way lessoning.

"I hate to break it to you brother," Talon broke in, placing a consoling hand on Lion's shoulder plate, "But I'm fairly sure that she loathes you."

"So much." Irena tacked onto Talon's words.

"That's not true." Christoph commented quietly, his eyes narrowing at Irena as Barad felt him reach into the Force, "I sense no genuine hatred coming from her, but I do sense a great deal of annoyance. There is also a certain degree of amusement and… some endearment as well." That was when he saw the absolutely furious expression on Irena's face and desperately tried to backpedal, "N-No, I mean-I mean, it's only a small amount, like a really, really miniscule quantity," Then he saw Lion's genuinely elated smile lessen a fraction, " No, that's not it! I mean-what I mean is- it's not-… I'm shutting up now." His once frantic tone dying away into a low mumble as he realized that he'd simply dug himself in too deep this time.

"I knew it!" Lion declared cheerfully, turning to look straight at Talon, "I totally called it."

"Yes," Talon sighed, sounded almost apologetic, "You did indeed 'call it'."

"I'm going to hurt you someday," Irena vowed as she fixed Lion with a dead serious expression, "Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but someday." She changed gears, disengaging with Lion in favor of the Jedi before her. "Anyway," She took a step forward, coming to within arm's reach of Barad, and looked him directly in the eye. He met her scrutiny after a brief moment of hesitation, trying not to think about how much more stunning she was to him at distance, and privately hoped she would take that moment's delay as a result of being frightened rather than awed by her beauty. "You know who I am, and I know who you are, so let's keep this short. You've got your job, and I've got mine, and I will not suffer any overlap between us. Here on the ship, you are to play by my rules and operate on my time schedule. If you don't like that, you can find somebody else to drag your half-dead carcass back to Coruscant once you're done ripping up one planet or another. Are we clear?" She crossed her arms in front of her, and leaned in just a fraction, seeking an answer an answer from either one of them. It was Christoph who managed to answer first.

"Yes Ma'am." Christoph immediately conceded.

"'Sir'," Irena corrected, looking to the younger Jedi.

"Yes Sir," Christoph amended, trying not to make any enemies on his first day.

"And what say you?" It took Barad a moment to realize Irena was speaking to him, though when he did, he also started feeling Christoph's eyes on him, silently fearing that he was about to start a fight. Between the two of them, Christoph could usually be socially subdued without too much difficulty coming from his end. Barad, however, was not normally so easily cowed. "Can I expect any trouble coming from your end."

He tried to be angry with her, to muster up the energy and willpower needed to put up even a small fight if only for the sake of his pride but found that he simply couldn't and soon gave up. "… No Admiral."

"Good," Irena nodded, more to herself than to any of them, "Then if you have any questions about the inner workings of this ship or run into a problem with any of its crew, you come see me. Otherwise, especially if it concerns directions, ask the clones. Almost all of them know _Justiciar_ like the back of their hand these days, though Lion probably knows it best given the amount of time he spends hanging about here, as much as I hate to admit it." She steadfastly ignored the jubilant expression on Lion's face upon hearing her endorsement of his navigational skills. "If there is nothing else, I'm afraid I have some more work to do, so do me a favor and get the hell off my bridge."

* * *

So, that was the Admiral, huh? She's very, uh…' Christoph paused, trying to find a word to describe her that was apt but couldn't be misconstrued as an insult, leaning against the back wall of the turbolift as it took them back down.

"Formidable?" Lion crossed his arms as he looked back at the younger Jedi from his place closer to the front of their little formation, "Yeah, she's like that. Don't let her get you down, kid."

"She is… much younger than I expected." Barad founding himself remarking. Indeed, upon taking notice of her approximate age, his interest in her had been stoked not just personally, but in a professional sense as well.

"I agree," Christoph uttered, looking thoughtful, "When I first saw her from the back, I'd assumed she was thrice my age if not more, but then I saw her face and…" He drifted off into silence.

"And why, pray tell, is a young woman such as that in so high a position? Usually, it takes a couple years more before one of her age could assume command of an entire vessel as grand as this one, and I am of the opinion that she had yet to reach the inception of her third decade in this galaxy, ivory hair notwithstanding." Barad recounted aloud, not really speaking to anyone in particular.

"I'm fairly sure you know the answer to that, General," Lion began, leaning against the elevator's right wall and facing his colleagues with his arms crossed. "If I'm not mistaken, I've heard the Jedi Order did the same thing with some of their Padawans, namely the ones who had almost-but-not-quite finished their training."

"You mean to say that they rushed her graduation and placed her on the frontlines before she was combat-ready." Barad answered almost instantly upon receiving the allusion. "Barely taught her how to oversee a ship in theory before giving her a real one."

"Got it in one, though with a hint like that, it shouldn't have been too hard." Lion observed, grinning cheekily, "The Republic has the funding necessary to keep building weapons of war for many years to come, and it will still be some time yet before the attrition rate becomes too much for the Kaminoans to handle. However, what the Republic doesn't have in great abundance is military leaders, hence why Jedi and military officers are being up-jumped before they are technically ready. Now normally, I'm of the opinion that being sent someone who doesn't have the credentials to back up their power or position is a recipe for disaster. In the case of Admiral Nevera however, neither of you need fear, for we are in good hands."

"Er, not that I doubt your judgement skills, but if I may, what makes you say that?" Christoph queried, attention fixed on Lion.

"Her training." Talon said tersely, watching the two Jedi with interest.

"Before she was rushed into service, she had been one of her Academy's top students, with perfect grades in every category and a stack of aced tests to match." Lion clarified, glancing at Talon, "Sure, she wasn't with us at Geonosis, but purely theoretically, she should have the skills necessary to do her job immaculately enough."

Barad wanted to contest this proclamation of confidence in their Admiral's skill set, but Christoph beat him to it. "Again, I don't mean to offend, but I must point out that the theoretical does not always have much of an impact on the practical or realistic, especially where matters of life and death are concerned."

"It seems you were listening to some of my lectures after all," Barad felt a small swell of pride in his chest, but he was sure to keep it from showing on his face. Wouldn't do for him to get a big head about it. "My apprentice is correct, I'm afraid. No matter how many simulations you run or how hard you train, no amount of preparation can prepare for the realities of combat, all it can really do is increase your chances of survival."

Then I suppose her chances of living are pretty good," Lion defended persistently, "As is our odds of success concerning naval affairs, especially when compared with any of the other Jedi who ended up getting one of the foppish, self-entitled muppets who formerly infested her Academy."

"I guess so… How do you know all this anyway?" Christoph looked to Lion who answered quickly.

I asked her point-blank," Lion told him, "And she answered me pretty quick. Snappy about it, yes, but she apparently had nothing to hide."

"He still looked up her records later though." Talon added, looking at his brother sternly, "Had to 'make sure she was the real deal', he said."

"Would you trust somebody you met two seconds ago to tell you the whole truth and every little attached detail about themselves?" Lion rhetorically questioned, "Someday soon, the lives of my brothers could end up solely within her hands, so I needed to ensure that she was all she claimed to be, and not just another incompetent fool who thinks having a powerful father makes them practically invincible in every conceivable way. It took me about a week because I had to go through all the proper channels to get the info, but it was well worth it."

"And I know because I grilled him for all the info afterwards, in case you were wondering." Talon added in, "At any rate, rest assured that we will have no problems from her on a professional basis. She may lack actual battlefield experience, but that can be remedied easily enough. Her personality, that might take some doing."

"If you were just going to look up her records anyway, then why even ask?" Christoph's eyes went to Lion, "Weren't you just wasting your time then?"

"Not really," Lion denied, "You can gauge a lot from a person based on how open they are. I wanted to know if I could trust her to tell the truth, or if her accomplishments have distilled a sense of arrogance within her, and there was no better way to do that then confronting her directly and seeing what happened before I went looking for what I wanted."

"Fair enough," Christoph conceded, "It was still kind of rude of you to poke about in her personal business though."

"Eh," Was what Lion had to say on the matter, shrugging, "It's not like I intend to be remembered for my manners or conduct or anything of that nature. No, that's more Talon's sort of thing. Me, I've got other things to worry about, like making sure the men under my command aren't intentionally or unintentionally killed by their own allies before they ever see the enemy. It's not the weapons you can see that'll get you, not if your careful enough. No, it's the ones you don't know about that should truly have you worried."

'_Still little more than sentient trash, but not a complete idiot, I'll give it that.'_ Barad internally evaluated. _'If only it wasn't a clone…'_

* * *

About an hour later, Barad found himself up to his neck in paperwork.

It appeared that following the death of Master Boeel, any and all work that was supposed to go through his office had come to a complete stop, as none of the clones or crewmen had the necessary credentials to sign any of the forms or make any of the executive decisions. So, that had left Barad with no choice but to make some time in his schedule and pick up the pieces. He was alone now, as Talon had gone off with Christoph to raid the mess and meet some of the brothers. Christoph had skipped breakfast to make their session in the training room, so he was due for a meal anyway. Lion had lingered a little longer but not by much, eventually leaving to make his own rounds about the ship and integrate some 'Shinies' that the Battalion had been asking for since Geonosis but had only just gotten now. Before he left however, he'd given Barad his cliff notes, citing that Talon would give him an earful if he didn't. From it, Barad had managed to glean an understanding of the 309th as well as the Jedi Generals who had served before him.

Barad, to put it simply, didn't like clones at all. Lion however was quickly proving himself more useful then Barad was willing to admit. Though he hadn't been technically required to, Lion had created a summary of past events from scratch for Barad's as well as Christoph's own benefit rather than his own or that of his brothers, and by all accounts had done it pretty nicely. It was almost like he'd known that Barad wouldn't want to see his face any longer than necessary and so had gone out of his way to make preparations to ensure that his new Jedi General wouldn't be left out of the loop as a result of their bigotry.

It appeared that the account had passed through the hands of at least two clones, for the majority of it was written in a neat and flowing hand that he theorized was Lion's based on the diction and mannerisms present in it. Here and there however, a shorter, terser, more formal and stiff hand took over for a sentence for two. Probably Talon if he had to guess, based on the way the two styles played off of and acknowledged each other even in the writing itself. Given that it was made by clones, he had been expecting something dry, robotic, and deeply uninteresting. Instead, what he got was a fluid, detailed narrative that blurred the lines between official military statement and personal journal entry in a way that seemed almost… like it was made by a real person. As one may have imagined, Barad shoved that utterly disturbing thought aside without hesitation and spent the next several minutes bitterly and begrudgingly ruminating on the Kaminoans and their annoyingly excellent cloning skills. When he was finished with that, he took a deep breath and continued with his reading, determined not to let some exceedingly well-taught mimicry deter him from learning what he could.

The first couple pages detailed the specialties of the 309th, which was centered around the attack or defense of key objectives and structures such as cities or fortresses, as well as urban warfare and close-quarters combat. Talon went on to note that trench engagements and interior ship or space station conflict also fell within their purview, but that as with most clone units, they were created to be flexible in their capabilities as dictated by necessity. After which, they included a short description of what the prior Generals were like.

According to Lion, Knight Rodi was vain, glory-seeking imbecile who frankly should have just done himself in, thereby saving the clankers the trouble of wasting a blaster bolt on him. Talon was significantly less open in his judgment, being more subtle and professional about it, but Barad could sense the latent aggression hiding between the lines. All in all, his service with the 309th lasted a grand total of three hours, forty-seven minutes, and fifty-three seconds, making it the current record for the shortest time a Jedi has commanded a clone unit in history.

Master Boeel had a slightly better reputation in that he wasn't so much of a resented figure as he was a mystery not yet unraveled, which was pretty in-line with what little Barad had heard of the late Ithorian Jedi. Much like he had prior to his appointment of the head of a military unit and right up until his untimely death, Boeel had spent most of his time alone, shut up in the same study Barad occupied at this very moment as he feverishly continued his research into past civilizations with a particular focus on those that had Force-sensitive beings amongst them. As such, he'd never bothered or done any harm to any of the clones, but he also hadn't exactly been a very present force in their lives at any point in time. When he'd died, the general censuses amongst the soldiers was that they regretted it but didn't mourn it too deeply. As may be expected for one who didn't share much of themselves with anybody, many of the details of Boeel's life have devolved into rumors and hearsay or been lost to history entirely. An archeologist by trade, Boeel had traveled all over the galaxy going from one half-forgotten world to another looking for the next breakthrough in his studies, taking him far from anybody who spoke his language or even had the mental capacity to remember his name. That had suited him just fine however, for Boeel had been a man who was only ever truly comfortable when he was by himself. The first day he left his study for any truly remarkable period of time that the clones could recall which didn't result in him simply going back to the Jedi Temple had also been his last alive. From there, Barad had no idea what had happened other than that the Specter had got him, for much of the details of the ongoing investigation currently being conducted had been kept hidden lest somebody accidentally or intentionally leak information they weren't supposed to.

After Geonosis, the 309th had been relegated to protection duty on Coruscant, helping to reinforce the CG as they integrated themselves into planetary security so as to both to give the 309th something to do and to give the Order time to select another Jedi to lead them, which took longer than expected as the Council had to cycle through a great number of candidates to find somebody suitable for the task. Just as they found Boeel and put him in charge, multiple war protests and a few small terrorists attacks prompted the 309th to stay on as guards longer than previously anticipated, which had annoyed Talon to some degree while Lion had no real opinion on the matter. During that time the 309th patrolled all over the planet and conducted multiple raids on suspected Coruscanti radicals but saw no intense combat nor suffered any notable casualties. All that came to an end no less than a couple days ago, during which the war progressed to such a degree that the Republic could no longer afford to hold troops back any longer. And Barad knew that was where he and Christoph came in…

Barad leaning back into his chair, rubbing at his eyes as he suppressed a sigh. Already, things were progressing in a way that he had both wanted and dreaded all at the same time, and the now rather familiar feeling of being lost in a sea of confusion and uncertainty bubbled up from within him. He pressed downward on it, trying to push it back into the neat little ball he'd previously arranged it in, where it couldn't too badly interfere with his thoughts or affect his behavior as he simultaneously reached into a pocket on his belt and pulled something out. A holorecorder, one of great importance to him…

* * *

_**Three weeks ago…**_

"_What's this?" Barad questioned from his bed within the Halls of Healing, looking into the twinkling yellow eyes of Master Mundi. The bruise on the side of his face was healing well, for it had already become barely noticeable in the week that had passed since Barad had awoken from his coma and struck him in a fit of pain and grief. It had been a sudden and unexpected attack, but Mundi was a Jedi Master for a reason and had reacted just fast enough to dodge most of the way out of range of Barad's fist, resulting in a glancing blow. It had still left a mark, but it was far less damage than it would have been otherwise. Week-long coma or not, Barad was by no means a weak fellow._

_What had come after was a bit of a haze, as Barad had shouted any number of terrible things at the old Cerean while Mundi enveloped him in a hug as multiple Healers rushed into the room and sedated his brain with multiple Force Suggestions compelling him to return to sleep. Barad put up a considerable fight as was to be expected, but there was just too many of them and eventually his mental defenses had been overwhelmed, after which he'd lost conscious. _

_When he'd come back around again, he was greeted with the thunderous expression of Master Mace Windu, who proceeded to chew him out so thoroughly that Barad was certain he would never forget it for the rest of his life. In truth, Barad's mind had still been slightly cloudy at the time as the Force Suggestion hadn't fully worn off yet, but he could still remember that encounter as well as he did simply because it was the first time that somebody had cut deeply enough through the layers of emotional agony to make him feel anything else. In this instance it was a pinprick of trepidation and anxiety, but when phrases like 'expelled from the Order' were being thrown around, that was completely understandable. Barad, even as hurt as he was at the time, chose not to do something stupid like metaphorically cross blades with a senior member of the Order who was almost thrice his age and had the accompanying skills and experience to back it up. And in truth, Barad could understand why Windu was taking such a thing so seriously even as much as Barad wanted to pretend he didn't, for physically attacking another Jedi, especially one as honorable and respected as Master Mundi was a grave offence indeed. To lose one's control of themselves so utterly went entirely against the Jedi Code, and worse still, hinted at the beginning manifestation of the Dark Side within one's very soul. Sure, he'd contemplated leaving the Order plenty of times before then but when Windu had finished saying his piece and stormed out in a swirl of robes, Barad could remember being more afraid for himself than he'd realized, as now the decision to do such a thing had been taken entirely out of his hands and was instead being made for him. The Order could not have Younglings or Padawans thinking they could violently assail their Elders or Masters and expect to get away with it, no matter the how good the reason, and so they had moved to quash any such notion quickly and mercilessly._

_In the hours long meeting to decide Barad's fate, multiple options were ruminated upon. Aside from expulsion, there was also arrest, arrest and expulsion (because apparently those two things were not necessarily inclusive), transfer to the Agri-Corps, and indefinite suspension from his duties to the Order. And without the combined intervention of several Masters most notably including but not limited to Mundi, Plo, and Fisto, the meeting certainly would have ended with one or another of the aforementioned results, but it was not to be. In hindsight, some of them were to be expected, but others threw Barad for loop and even humbled him on some small level._

_Master Plo had never been anything less than a sympathetic ear to Barad's own Padawan, and even up until that terrible time, Barad's respect for him on a personal level had never dimmed whatever he thought of the Council as a whole. It would make sense that in this important juncture of Barad's life, he would naturally make an appearance. His argument was that Barad was caught in a vulnerable moment of weakness, for while the rest of them had been given a week to adjust to the reality of a galaxy without Master Fey'lya, it had still only just happened for Barad. As such, it would have been that much more troubling if he hadn't lashed out in one way or another. Yes, the reaction was still a bit extreme, but the point still stood._

_Fisto was of the opinion that even with his history of lacking in much enthusiasm when it came to serving the Order, it was still Barad's first serious offense against it. Up until then, he had only ever delivered or tried to deliver impeccable results in spite of his perpetual grumbling about it, and so his years of doing good deeds on their behalf should be thereby rewarded at least just this once. After all, did not one good turn deserve another? Barad had never truly understood why the Nautolan Jedi Master liked him so much, as they clashed on multiple personal levels. Fisto was the optimist; always ready with a kind word, easy smile and good joke. Barad on the other hand on the cynic; anti-social, intense, and bitter. That a man he considered his polar opposite rushed to his aid so quickly was utterly confounding to him in a multitude of ways and he still struggled to logically rationalize it. Privately, he had two theories; that Fisto enjoyed annoying him too much to let him go so quickly, and that Aayla Secura probably had something to do with it, more on that later. _

_The strongest and for some, the most shocking defense of all however was given by none other than Mundi, Barad's very own victim. Even with the bruise still fresh on his face, the Cerean Master had seemingly made it his mission to get Barad out of as much of the trouble as he could, and quickly went to work the instant the Council called upon him for his opinion. He had told the Council that as the only living person to have physically been on-hand to witness Master Fey'lya's death, he understood the details of what had happened just as well as Barad did if not better. As such, he knew full well that seeing such a thing even through a Force Link like Barad had did not make it any less of a harrowing experience. He then went on to compound the earlier arguments of Masters Plo and Fisto with his own points and eventually managed to talk things down._

"_While you have been in the care of the Healers, the Council went about sorting through Master Fey'lya's last will and testament. I hope you don't mind, but I took care of the proceedings myself. I figured that it was the least I could do considering…" Master Mundi drifted off, tone steady but Barad could sense the underlying notes of sorrow and regret. He soon recovered however, "Being a Jedi, Master Fey'lya has next to no earthly possessions to pass on to anybody save for two people; yourself and your Padawan. To Christoph, he gifted a set of Jedi texts and his favorite Dejarik board on the grounds that though he may now be one with the Force, that should by no means stop him from nurturing your Padawan's intelligence and occasionally helping him on his path as a Jedi much like he did in days now long past. To you, he bequeathed his lightsaber and this holorecorder, which contains his final message. Rather strange that Master Fey'lya could have both known that his death was coming and prepared accordingly, for according to what we could find, he wrote this up only a couple of days before we went to Geonosis. Not that he knew what would happen, that's rare but not unheard off among Force-sensitives. No, what's strange is that he actually took the time to create a will when he had so little to give away, but I respect his desire to cover all the bases nonetheless."_

"_I…see…." Barad was struggling to look him in the eye at the moment, for this was the first time that Master Mundi had come to see him since their rather unpleasant previous interaction, and that he was speaking so civilly to Barad made him feel more than a little awkward. Abruptly, he felt a strong wave of deep guilt rush to the surface and found that he couldn't hold it back any longer. "Master, about what I did to you…"_

"_Think nothing of it, dear boy." Master Mundi told him casually, a small, pained smile evident through his beard. "You had a moment. It happens to everybody, and you were no exception."_

"_Oh…alright…" Barad couldn't take much more of this. Time for a change of subject. "I don't mean to be rude Master, but is there any chance you might have taken a peek at what was on this?" He was sincerely hoping that Mundi would say 'yes'. He would much prefer to get the important events through somebody else rather than listen to it himself, for to hear that voice which had helped and guided him for so much of his life…he wasn't ready right then and wasn't certain he'd be either. The thought of what he would or worse, wouldn't hear frightened him too much._

"_What? By the Force, No!" Mundi insisted, looking appalled at the mere suggestion, "He made it very clear that what was on that holorecorder was for your ears and your ears only. Naturally, some of the Council weren't too pleased with that, but it was essentially one of Master Fey'lya's very last wishes…" He didn't need to say more._

_Obviously that wasn't what he wanted to hear, but not a lot of things were going his way lately, so it wasn't unexpected. "And the lightsaber?"_

"_I have it with me." And just like that, he produced the weapon from his tunic, "To be honest, I've been carrying it around since Geonosis."_

"_You have?" Barad hadn't thought much about the lightsaber, as he'd been too focused on dealing with his Master's death. But now that Master Mundi had brought it back to his attention… well, he wanted to see it at least one more time. The needle of dread that shot through him at being given the holorecorder wasn't there when Mundi had pulled out his Master's old weapon. He already knew what it was and what it did, and there was no reason to fear what was already known. He wasn't prepared for the wave of nostalgia that hit him at the sight of it, however._

"_Indeed, your Master and I must have saved each other a combined half-dozen times over the course of that battle, and even after he sacrificed himself for my sake and I lost my own weapon, his blade kept me alive until the battle ended." Master Mundi glanced at the saber, "When the danger passed, the Force willed that I hold onto it, and as of this moment I know why. It's yours now." He held it out to Barad who, after a few seconds of hesitation, grasped it with trembling hands._

_Holding it now, this source of such comfort that was tied to so many good memories and more than a few bad ones, Barad willed himself not to break down. Not yet, and certainly not in front of Master Mundi. "I…uh, thank you." He rasped, not trusting himself to say any more._

"_He didn't leave exact instructions as to what he wanted you do with it, but the implication's that the choice is yours." Master Mundi continued gently, watching Barad carefully._

_Barad turned it over in his hands. What should he do with it? Use it? No, he was too attached to his own saber, and his gut told him that it wasn't what his Master would have wanted. Destroy or otherwise get rid of it? An even worse option, the thought was banished from his mind immediately. Lay it to rest with his Master? Close, but not quite it…_

"_Enshrine it." He held the saber out to Mundi, who took it back with a curious expression, "Put it in the Lightsaber Dojo with the other weapons of notable Jedi who have long since passed. It's the least he deserves."_

"_A wise decision," Master Mundi leaned back in his chair, "I will have to bring it before the Council, but I have no doubt they will pass the motion. Normally the Dojo is reserved for fallen Council Members and past heroes, but Master Fey'lya was amongst the most senior of Jedi, had a remarkable record of service to the Order, and died a noble death, that alone should be enough to convince the others. If I may ask however, why this? It's yours to do what you will, so why chose this of all things?"_

"_Well, he always used to tell me that once Christoph was knighted, he was going to have a nice and quiet retirement in the Temple, where he'd spend the day sipping tea, roping people into playing Dejarik with him, and maybe overseeing a creche of Younglings. Now that he's gone, I figured this was the closest that we could get." Barad explained lowly._

"_I suppose you are not incorrect." Master Mundi glanced at the chronometer hanging on the wall, before he made to stand up. "Well then, I'd best be on my way. This request isn't going to file itself, after all."_

"_Master, wait!" Barad struggled to sit up in bed, trying to keep his eyes on Mundi._

"_Yes?" The Cerean Master paused halfway to the door, looking back at him with eyes full of concern, "Is something the matter, Barad?"_

"_Why…?" Barad had to know, because remaining unaware was eating him up inside. "Why'd you help me? You defended me even after I-"_

"_Sucker punched me and then told me that I should have been the one who died?" Master Mundi finished, and Barad found himself too overwhelmed with shame to look him in the face, "Because I believe. I believe that you will find your way through this, that you are stronger than you may first appear. Yes, the road to recovery will be long and arduous, and at times you may look back upon this moment and curse me for a fool for placing my faith in you in this way, but I know that you will make it through this. Perhaps eventually, things shall even be as they were so many years ago. Yes, I know, now I might be pushing it a bit, but you cannot fault an old man for dreaming. Furthermore, whatever you may think, know that you are not alone in this. Myself, Master Plo, Master Fisto, Master Secura, Christoph, and many others will be here to guide you through this difficult time. And though I have no way of truly knowing, who is to say that you will not receive some more instruction from Master Fey'lya yet…"_

"_Fat chance of that." Barad denied, "He's dead, just like he was when I woke up and just like he will be after you leave this room."_

"_Barad, have you've not been listening to anything we've been telling you all these years?" Master Mundi chuckled mirthfully, "There is no death, there is only the Force."_

* * *

A flash informed him that he was receiving a message on his holocom, dragging him back to reality. As he read the ID, which was broadcasting Jedi Order codes and appeared to be coming from the Venator-class Star Destroyer _Triumphant._

'_I had a feeling I would be hearing from him right about now.'_ After a moment, he reached forward and tapped to receive the call. _'I still need to fill out one hundred and sixty-three more assorted forms before I can afford to sleep or eat, but I think I can spare a couple of minutes…'_

Immediately, a little blue figure dressed in the clothes of a Jedi at war complete with a lightsaber hanging at his side appeared and smiled broadly up at him, lips curling behind the mask even as the eyes crinkled under the goggles. "_Koh-to-yah_ Barad, it's been too long."

* * *

_He was running. _

_Jihehl didn't know why he was, where he was, when he was, how he'd got there, or even who he was running from, but what he did know was that he was alone, and that if he stopped, he would die._

_Something was obscuring his vison, slowly cutting off his perception of the world around him. While he had never seen in the same way other people had due the biology of his species, he had also never truly been blind thanks to the Force. But now, something was taking that from him too, and soon he would truly be sightless. It was like an inky dark shadow pressing in on him from all sides but forward, malevolent and relentless, determined to leave him truly isolated and helpless. And behind him, just out of sight and hovering at the edge of the darkness, was either something else or perhaps a product of that same darkness. It was a haunted, terrible thing, something that carried so much anger and pain that it immediately repulsed him. But there was something else, something so tragically familiar about it that if he'd had eyeballs, he was fairly sure he would have wept. _

_Normally, Jihehl would have loved to study all this, to try and understand what was going on. And if he were in control of the situation, that is exactly what he would have been doing. He also wanted to understand the effect whatever that was had upon him, why it felt to him like he'd sensed that thing somewhere before. But now wasn't the time, not if he wanted to keep breathing._

_He was in a void at the moment, he knew that much. There was no light, no sound, no people and no objects of any sort anywhere behind or in front of him. He had nowhere to hide and nothing he could use. And he felt strangely weightless, like he was floating in space, but something was keeping his feet firmly planted on the ground, and he didn't understand that either. Did directions exist here? For as far as he could be sure of, only forwards, left, right and backwards seemed to exist. In the case of up and down, who knows? Maybe up was down and down was up here? The ground didn't feel right either, for it was like he was stepping on something just solid enough to hold him, but the small amount of give present with each step was enough to make him nervous about falling through the floor. It had semi-fluid, gelatinous quality to it, and it was cold. But then, there was no heat here, so everything was cold. How he had not frozen to death by this point was incredible, but he knew the cold wasn't the threat here, only a part of the aesthetic. A set piece for the true danger lurking behind him._

_ It was a chase, but the odds were heavily stacked against him, for whatever he was running from either had control of his route or was working in collusion with that which did. Jihehl__ wanted to stop, to try and face whatever was harassing him and he almost did more than once, but the primal lizard part of his brain responsible for 'fight or flight' told him that trying to fight would only end with his demise, so flight was his only remaining option._

_Abruptly, forward no longer became an option when he bodily slammed against something solid and hard, knocking the wind out of him and stopping him firmly in his tracks. He desperately tried to search for a way around, under, over, on either side, but he knew it was fruitless even before he began. His only path out was wallowing in darkness, same as every other direction, and now he truly had nowhere to go. All the while, whatever was following him came creeping closer and closer, like a killer in a horror holovid slowly and methodically moving towards their next victim. _

_Jihehl whirled around, already reaching for his lightsaber as he went, but was surprised to feel nothing there. That surprise was prolonged when he felt something hard punch into his gut and then heard the telltale sound of a lightsaber being activated, after which what followed was horrid pain and the faint smell of something cooking. He'd sustained lightsaber wounds before, but those had always been in training grounds and little more than light burns, this was a lightsaber at full power and it was so much worse._

_Slowly, as the darkness drew back just enough to surround him and his attacker, he realized after a moment that whoever had stabbed him had done so with his own lightsaber, based on the hilt sticking out of his body and the segment of green light blade attached to it. It a clean hit to the abdomen, aimed so precisely that it would kill him for sure, but would take a couple of minutes rather than seconds or instantly. And during that time, he would be an immense agony. All at once, he began to lose strength as he witnessed this, the darkness that had always been hovering steadily creeping in as he did, and he knew then that he little time left._

Then the_ face of his assailant came into view, and he felt his blood run cold. _

_She was... still the same, even after all these years. But that was to be expected, she'd been about that old when she'd died, after all. How she was here was beyond him, but it seemed she'd been transplanted from the moment of her death squarely into this hellish alternate dimension solely to torment him._

_ What was strange was that there was no signs of decomposition or rot upon her body, and the blood on her hands still looked slick. Her hair was a mess, but he could sense the Padawan braid hidden within it, and any bare skin she__ was showing was slathered with deep lacerations and bruises or covered in grim and sweat. Her skin was pale and sallow, hinting at the state she had been in at the very end. __Her tunics and breeches were dirty and in tatters, but that was a result of wear and tear rather than time. The material seemed relatively fresh, considering what it had been through, which was quite a lot. Her face was impassive, a blank mask that betrayed no emotion of any sort. Her eyes however, were hateful, accusing, and betrayed. _

_'You killed me.' She seemed to be saying even though she hadn't uttered a word, or even moved her lips, but he could hear her loud and clear within his mind. "It's your fault I died, yours and yours alone. You should have protected me, you should have kept me safe, but you weren't strong enough to even do that much. You are a disgrace to the Jedi Order, a stain upon your Master's sublime reputation, and a weakling too pitiful to manage even the most basic of your responsibilities.' Her eyes flicked to something at the base of his neck and he realized that part of what he'd been hiding must have been visible, for she lashed out, clawing for it roughly and violently before snatching out from where it he'd tucked it under the neckline of his tunic, and at his point he was too weak to even to even try to stop her. She didn't remove the chain from his neck, only held it closer to get a better look at it. When she saw what it was, disgust was added amongst the various emotions swirling in her eyes. '... How interesting... So, you traded the life of someone you claimed to care about for the opportunity to gain more power, is that it?'_

_"No," Jihehl gasped, one hand going down to cover that of hers still holding the lightsaber, though he couldn't have removed her grip from it if he tried. Her skin was cold, like that of a corpse, with no life flowing through her veins whatsoever. She was a ghost of the past, one that had unfinished business with him. "That's not-"_

_'Don't lie to me!" She hissed without actually saying anything, 'You can lie to my replacement, to your men, to your Master, to the entirety of the Jedi Council, to the rest of the Jedi Order and even to yourself, but you can't lie to me! You can keep saying to yourself that you are wearing that thing to honor my memory, and so that you never forget your negligence, but we both know the truth. The real reason you carry that thing around! You wanted more power, and an opportunity to further expand your research, because that's all you ever really cared about. To you, my death was nothing more than a sacrifice necessary to sate your greed!"_

_'It… didn't happen like that... you were there..." Jihehl only barely managed through the pain, trying to ignore the guilt and heartbreak building up within him. He'd always hoped he would see her again someday, but not like this. Never like this._

_"And yet, regardless of how it happened, you benefitted from it all the same, didn't you?" She smiled, but there was no warmth, only cruelty and maliciousness. As she did so, she revealed her teeth to be covered in blood and at the corner of the right side of her mouth, a river of it began to trickle out and down her chin, dripping steadily onto her tunic. "Tell me, what are you going to do with that new style of yours, huh? Avenge me? It would be quite enjoyable for me to watch you become little better if not worse than the person who took me from you. Oh, maybe you'll teach a little too much of what you've been learning to that adorable new apprentice of yours. That would be quite rough, losing one to the Force and the other to the Dark Side, but it's nothing less than you deserve. A failure can only spawn more failures, and with you, it shall be no different. Or maybe, you'll finally lose yourself, just as Yoda and Windu fear, just as I feared before you ensured that I breathed my last... You can feel it, can't you? Always whispering in your ear and nipping at your heels, shadowing your every movement, your every thought. Already, you've had a taste of it, and try as you might to resist, you know deep down that you want more. You believe that you'd never turn to the Dark Side, but you fail to realize that you're even closer to the brink than you think. You fool, none are immune to it's pull, and you are no different... It's always so tragic when the one who believes himself the hero is unable to comprehend that he was actually the villain all along.'_

_"Yalla…" Jihehl breathed, lifting his one free hand towards her face, whether to strangle her, pull her into a hug, or simply to caress her, he himself didn't know. With his other hand, he used the last of his might to close tightly around her wrist and pulled himself further along the blade, trying to get closer. It stung unbelievably, but he payed it no mind. If this was a dream or vision, it would be of no consequence when he woke up. If this was somehow real, he was already finished anyway, so what did a little more internal incineration matter? "I-"_

_He never got to finish, as she batted his outstretched hand out of the way and physically pushed him off the blade. Rather than meeting solid wall as he expected, he found himself tumbling backwards as the darkness finally robbed him of all sense._

* * *

**_Oracle, en route to Tar Torgrias..._**

Jedi Master Jihehl Vesus awoke with a start, sitting bolt upright, lightsaber already in hand and ignited in an instant. He was hyperventilating hard, as though he'd run for hours rather than simply just woken up, and scanned in every direction, stretching out with the Force to sense for all incoming threats.

He found none, and at that moment realized that he was in his room aboard his personal flagship, The Venator-class Star Destroyer _Oracle_. Clearly, he was safe, physically at least. He finally got his breath under control, shut off the green blade of the weapon in his hand, and had begun to relax when his hand flew to the pendent about his neck, drawing it out from under his clothes as he felt it grow warm and begin to pulsate not unlike a beating heart. It was not so hot that it was burning him, but enough that it was uncomfortable.

_'What's happening?_' He thought, swinging his legs to the side of the bed as he brushed his long shoulder-length grey hair back, fingers skimming over his beard and the brown cloth headband with golden ornate designs upon it that obscured his eyeless sockets. Being a Miraluka, he'd been born without eyes, but as always, the Force provided. In this instance, it gave him vision in it's on way. Lowering his head in concentration, he clasping the thing tight, feeling much older than his thirty-three years. _' And that nightmare... could it be...'_

He rose from the bed and began to dress quickly, throwing on a dark grey tunic and overtunic on top of the dark grey breeches and white undertunic he was already wearing before slipping into a pair of black boots and a dark brown belt. He left his armor and his robes where they were as he didn't plan on seriously doing battle with anybody and he was fairly sure it wouldn't rain inside the ship unless somebody tripped the fire alarm, again, and so had no need of such heavy material as with the robe respectively. He tucked the pendent back under his tunic where he always kept it away from prying eyes and made for his office at a brisk pace. He had a call to make.

All the while, his head was going miles per minute piecing together what he saw. He had already theorized that what happened and what he was wearing were interconnected, but was at a loss concerning everything else. The pendent had granted him visions, dreams, and visions within dreams, but never anything such as that. Before, it had always been constructive and instructive information from which he'd learned much, but that didn't seem to be the case now. He had to speak of this to someone, to try figure out what he just saw, but his options were limited.

He could not take this to his Padawan, for Jihehl was the Master, not the student. Athos already knew most of the story already but not all of it, and Jihehl would prefer to keep it that way for now. Even if he did, he doubted that the young man would be of much help. The clones as a whole were out for any number of reasons, so there was that. He wished he could call on some of his friends for help with this, but none of them knew anything about it. Yoda would have been perfect, and Jihehl suspected his Master knew something was amiss with his most recent Padawan anyway, but the old, little green Grandmaster had said nothing to him about it, and so Jihehl was likewise content to keep up the silence. That left only one person remaining he could speak to...

He was at his office before he knew it, the doors sliding open to allow him entrance at once, after which he glided to the other end of the room and slid behind the desk into a chair, quickly dialing up a holocom ID he knew by heart.

Master Mace Windu answered instantly, just as Jihehl knew he would. Master Windu had always gone out of the way to be reachable by any within the Order no matter the time on any given planet or starship. Obviously, not everyone always wanted to speak with him given how strict and dour he could be, but he was better than nobody at all. Fortunately, that suited Jihehl just fine, for only he knew the full truth of what had happened all those years ago.

"Master Vesus? I wasn't expecting your call so soon, surely you haven't reached-" He cut himself off as soon as he saw the look upon Jihehl's face, the air about him that of a man who'd been confronted with his deepest and darkest regret, with all the anger, fear, sorrow, and guilt was attached to it. Immediately, Windu the colleague was replaced with Windu the Jedi Master, his tone utterly serious if decidedly neutral. "What happened? "

Jihehl took a deep breath, bracing himself for the conversation he was about to have. When he'd promised Mace that he would call him if something happened, he hadn't really thought much of it at the time, partially because he was still reeling from his recent loss and partially because he'd been sure it never show him anything he couldn't handle on his own. Now he knew he was wrong, and it was time to fulfill his promise. "It's the pendant... the circumstances surrounding it have developed in a way I could never have imagined." It took several moments for him to muster the will to do so, but he reluctantly took the pendent off his neck and placed it upon the desk as he said this.

It was a crude, ugly-looking thing, made of dark metal with crimson highlights and hanging from an interlocking link of chains. The pendent itself had been roughly smelted into the shape of a diamond, and adorned with the Imperial Sun; a symbol of the Sith.

Windu's expression darkened as he at last saw it once again for the first time in two years, and he affixed Jihehl with an expression that brokered no argument. "Start from the beginning, and tell me everything."

* * *

**Hey everybody, Happy New Years and a very belated Merry Christmas to you all! I bet some of you thought I was dead, but lucky for you I am not, and neither is this story. It took me forever to write it, but I'm happy with how most of it turned out and I hope the rest of you are as well.**

**As always, please follow and favorite if you so wish. Also, please consider leaving a review, for those both give me life and encourage me to read back through and correct some of my mistakes. And of course, this goes without saying, but I'm still excepting Clone OCs.**

**I'm thinking of changing this story's rating to M, just in case I end up writing any scenes that are a bit more... intense. Should I?**

**Enjoy!**


	8. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

"Troopers." Athos acknowledged, only to be met with a violent rustling as one of the two clones before him abruptly stood up.

"Sir." The clone began to salute, only to stop as Athos quickly raised his hand.

There's no need for that, not when there are only three of us here." Athos smiled sheepishly, "Sorry, but I don't think we've met before."

"We haven't, Sir," The standing clone confirmed, "I'm CT-2468, but everybody calls me Doc. You break an arm, skin a knee, or sustain a blaster burn, come to me and I'll sort you out,"

"As I'm sure you already know, my name is Athos Semper, Jedi Padawan and your commanding officer." Athos gave a small bow, "A pleasure to make your acquaintance."

"Commander," The clone who had remained sitting nodded up at him, "Good to see you. Please, take a seat."

Athos did so, sliding into an unoccupied segment of the bench at the table even as newly christened 'Doc' did the same across from him. As he took note of what Doc was eating, his handsome face twisted in disgust, "By the Force, what is that?"

Doc spooned at the unappetizing mess sitting squarely in the middle of his tray, choosing his words carefully, "'Neimoidian Delight', Sir. Believe me, it's not nearly as bad as it looks." Doc's hair was shaved even shorter than the high-and-tight typically favored by newly minted clones while a slight beard coated the lower half of his face. Athos could see that on the left side of his neck, a list of five assorted ID numbers and nicknames were tattooed in black ink; 'CT-2743', 'CT-5230', 'CT-8888', 'Carbine', and 'Axel', the last of which was just peeking out above the collar of Doc's body glove. On the left shoulder Pauldron and temple of his helmet respectively, the symbol of the Medical Corps was emblazoned proudly, adding a splash of red to armor that was otherwise predominantly white and purple in color. Sitting next to his tray on the right was a small datapad which he was fiddling with frequently even as he ate, cycling through medical data in between each bite and at times momentarily forgetting about the food whenever something of considerable interest made an appearance before his eyes. It seemed that even when he was technically off the clock, Doc never stopped working for a single moment. On the opposite side sat Doc's headgear, the face directed straight at Athos, who regarded it with but a glance, and saw his reflection the faceplate.

Staring back at him was Zeltron male with vibrant pink skin and deep purple eyes, contrasting sharply with the dark blue shade of his hair which was shaved down to stubble on the sides and back of his head, but had grown long enough upon the crown that he could tie it into a dreadlock ponytail that stopped at the base of his neck. Likewise, being a Padawan, some of his hair on the right side had been tied into a thin braid which snaked down his head behind the ear. An exquisitely handsome young man, Athos' pointed nose, angular, prominent cheekbones, full lips, long eyelashes, defined jawline, and lean, diamond-shaped face all contributed to the effeminate air swirling about him constantly. In fact, were he dressed and styled in a certain fashion, it would be all too easy for one to mistake Athos for a female member of his species. He was possessed of a lithe and dexterous frame and despite being well into his nineteenth year of life, had never grown taller than 5'6 feet tall. Though they were not currently visible, Athos knew that beneath the sleeves and pant legs of his clothing, tattoos were etched upon his wrists and ankles. Ornamented and gorgeous in design, those who had the privilege to observe them would think that they were bangles of some sort, but only Athos knew what they truly were. At the moment, as he was not expecting to be in combat in the near future, Athos was dressed only in the usual clothing of the Jedi with a maroon tunic as well as a matching overtunic and breeches, with a black belt, pair of boots and undertunic. At the rear of his waist, the curved hilts of two lightsabers stuck out from either side of his back, ready to be drawn and used at a moment's notice.

"I second that, Sir," CT- 8908, Dusty, agreed from further to the left down the way, also sitting at table on the other side. Rather than any sort of foodstuffs, sitting in front of him was a Z-6 Rotary Blaster Cannon which he was in the midst of feverishly working on, a tool in each hand as he dug around the mechanical innards of the weapon and his eyes rarely leaving it for a second even as he spoke. "Sure, it may look like especially chunky and bitter vomit, but the taste is so much more. I've never actually had any of what they serve at the Jedi Temple, so I can't draw a comparison, but I'm willing to bet that there is leagues better than anything you would find amongst your colleagues." Dusty was not a clone who massively differed in appearance from any of his brothers, having only shaved his head and kept his face clean of stubble, but no more than that. Called 'Dusty' due to the fact that he was covered head-to-toe in dust and grains of sand by the time his service in the First Battle of Geonosis concluded, Athos found that Dusty was one of his favorites amongst the clones, usually because he was always willing to back Athos up, made time for him even when the clone was supposed to be on duty, and went along with his plans no matter how poorly thought out they may or may not have been. Also, he carried a big gun. Yes, 'Size matters not' and all that, but still, who in a fight would turn down having a massive weapon and a guy to wield it on their side? Nobody sane, that's who.

Athos scoffed, "Well, that's a bet that you would win, hands down. I don't know how or why, but literally every meal I have ever had at the Temple could be described as bland and tasteless at best and a culinary travesty at worst. It's like the cooks purposely went out of their way to make it as terrible as possible without actually rendering it legitamently inedible, and I just can't understand what they are thinking. And no need to worry about lacking any example to compare the food here to, as you honestly aren't missing out on much… Come to think of it, how did you even get your hands on freshly cooked food this early in the day anyway?"

"A perk of being one of the ones sent to wake the head chef." Dusty grinned.

"Indeed, Dusty here gave him a very…" Doc paused, trying to find the right descriptor to use, "'Enthusiastic' wake-up call."

"Translation; I flipped the chef's bunk over… while the chief was still in it." Dusty interjected, the ghost of a smile passing over his face as leaned in closer to his work.

"I still can't believe you did that," Doc frowned disapprovingly, glancing at his brother, "Had circumstances been only a little different, you could have seriously hurt him."

"You're exaggerating," Dusty set down one of his tools, only to pick up another not a moment later, "He wasn't high enough off the ground to actually injure himself excepting cases of extraordinarily bad luck and furthermore, I'll have you know that I was careful to ensure that he would have a relatively safe landing before I went and actually tipped him over."

Doc set down his fork as he turned to regard his brother, "Well, would it have killed you to just go and turn on the Chef Droids and have them make it for you? Serving you_ is_ the entire point of their existence, after all."

"Yeah, just like the Battle Droids exist to serve the seppies by murdering our brothers," Dusty scoffed, shaking his head, "Sorry, but the day I let a clanker prepare my meal unsupervised by a trained, competent, _organic _professional is the day I eat my armor."

"Uh, Dusty, after the events of this morning, I don't think it's the droids you have to worry about." Doc advised, picking his fork back up, " I've never seen the chef quite so angry before, so unless you want to risk seeing me in the Med Bay, maybe you should stick to the prepackaged rations for a while just to be safe…"

Way ahead of you," There was a subtle clang as the tools in Dusty's hands hovered over the innards of the gun, making adjustments here and there, "I neglected to order anything as I suspected he might try something, hence the lack of a tray for myself," One of Dusty's hands left the gun to wave about the table in front of him, where there was indeed no tray, "If he did do something, than the joke's on him; I wasn't hungry anyway."

Doc's eyes went his meal as a troubling thought occurred to him, "Speaking of which, you don't think he spit in this, do you? I know I wasn't the one who woke him, but I swear I saw him giving me the evil eye earlier."

"Well, you were complacent in my offense against him, given that you kind of just stood there looking horrified while I went and did it, which I'm sure didn't win you any points." Dusty explained, "Guess I'm not the only one who'll be eating from the rations for the foreseeable future."

"Again, I really didn't expect you to do something like that." Doc frowned, "But then, it's you, so I suppose I shouldn't be surprised; you are about as gentle and subtle as a Krayt Dragon with a toothache."

"You know me so well," Dusty smiled sheepishly, "Though, if I'm being completely honest, Lieutenant Kass put me up to it. He said that the chef needed to be awoken early so that he could adequately prepare to feed an entire legion of clone troopers before they potentially end up dropping into combat, but what he did not tell me was that the man would react so poorly to a practical joke."

Doc cocked an eyebrow, "Lieutenant Kass told you to tip a man out of his bunk?"

"Not exactly," Dusty remarked, "His orders were to wake the chef up, but he didn't say exactly how I should go about it, so I… improvised a bit."

"Is that what we're calling it now? I wasn't aware." The door the kitchen was shouldered open by a third clone wearing the markings of a Lieutenant within the Grand Army of the Republic whose hair was styled into a Mohawk with a dusting of stubble across the lower half of his face. As Doc and Dusty rushed to stand up and salute, he lazily returned the gesture, stepping forward out of the doorway and making for a spot at their table. "Commander," He nodded to Athos who returned it promptly before dropping into place to the Zeltron's direct left, right across from Dusty. "I just finished smoothing things over with the head chef, and the good news is that he's decided not to pursue sweet, sweet vengeance against you. However, the bad news is that if that you do that again, he told me to tell you that he will make sure food poisoning is the least of your worries."

"Buzzkill." Dusty muttered lowly, hiding his face behind his Z-6.

Kass shifted in his seat, pretending he didn't hear that, "Listen, I know you were just following orders, but I'd rather you didn't go about fulfilling them in so ham-fisted a manner if you can help it. It's common sense that after the medics and engineers, the folks you should make a point of messing with the least in any given situation are the ones who prepare your food. So next time, maybe leave the improvising to me, okay?"

"… I'll see what I can do, Sir," Dusty replied, looking somewhat resigned.

Kass smiled, "Good man."

"Lieutenant Kass," Athos began, catching the clone's attention, "Have you heard any new developments about the situation on Tar Torgrias?"

"Afraid not, Sir," Kass denied stoically, in stark contrast to the slightly warmer tone he took with his brothers. "However, I have heard that General Vesus and Commander Preacher have a battle plan for when we get there in the works, and I should expect that they will fill us in during the briefing later today." Kass stood back up, "Speaking of which, it's time I went and attended to my other duties, Sir." A small salute and then Kass was gone, vanishing through a door that lead into the _Oracle's _various corridors.

Athos watched him go, feeling him in the Force even as left the room, and fought to suppress a sigh. He knew it was only natural that many who were higher in the chain of command to be weary of one as young as he to be occupying such an important position, but he also knew he could not only meet but also surpass their expectations if only given the chance. Kass treated him with the respect he was due as a superior officer, but that was only because it was necessary for him to do so as a clone officer and not because he genuinely thought all that highly of young Athos. To him, Athos was still green and had yet to prove himself worthy of the men he was commanding. Furthermore, Athos suspected that Kass was somewhat slightly intimidated by both Master Vesus and Athos himself due to the power they both wielded. Now Athos could understand that, as while the Jedi are taught from a young age what exactly the Force was, non-Force sensitive people had only myths, legends and hearsay to go on, rendering most of them more or less uneducated on what the Force is, how it works, or if it even truly exists. When someone brings up or makes use of the Force in the presence of another person whose every facet of life is guided wholly by science and can be entirely explained away with cold hard facts, of course they would be afraid, for it is humanoid nature to fear what one does not understand. Therefore, it would be a natural reaction for Kass to fear him even to some small degree, regardless of whether or not it was necessarily warranted. That, and of course, Kass had always been rather… volatile where people of a rank greater than his own were concerned. It was never to the degree of outright insubordination of course, for the Kaminoans would not have suffered such behavior to pass amongst their products, but Kass had always been more outspoken and willful than many of his brothers. Failing the prospect becoming the leader himself, Kass wanted to follow someone who had earned his respect on a personal basis. And as always, that would have to be earned the old-fashioned way.

Of course, that only further motivated Athos to push himself harder, not just for the sake of impressing his Master, but also prove to the clones that they were in not one but two pairs of strong and capable hands. Hence, why he'd come looking for Dusty. They'd already spoken of most of the details before, but time was growing short and Athos wanted to make sure that everything was in place by the time things had died down on Tar Torgrias.

"So," Athos turned in place, regarding Dusty with curiosity, "You all set?"

"Almost Sir," Dusty leaned forward, peering closely at his work, "The Digital Rangefinder is all out of whack and the weapon itself is rotating at point five seconds slower than normal, but I'm tending to that right now. By my estimate, I should be ready to go anytime now, once I've double-checked my work and then run some calibrations to make sure everything's up to snuff. After that, call on me whenever you're ready."

"Do you really have to do that here in the Mess Hall?" Doc interjected, looking over to his brother and gesturing to the colossal gun laying on their table, "Surely you could have worked on your Z-6 in the Armory, where they have both tools and brothers in abundance to help with maintenance. Why didn't you go there?"

"Hey Doc, do you hear that?" Dusty asked, looking the tiniest bit annoyed.

"What do you mean?" Doc wondered, looking utterly perplexed, "I don't hear anything."

"Exactly," Dusty told him, "Nothing, because there's nobody around to make a sound except for the three of us. Usually around this time, the Armory is swarming with brothers creating such an ungodly amount of noise that I couldn't even begin to try to hear myself think, much less concentrate on anything. Here, it's nice, quiet, and almost completely deserted, perfect for what I'm trying to do."

"And what exactly are you trying to do? And how does it involve Commander Semper?" Doc looked between the two of them, expecting someone to give him an explanation.

At that moment, an idea popped into Athos' head as his eyes roved over the medic symbol on Doc's Pauldron, and he fought not to smile. "Hey Doc, what are you doing here in about a half hour?"

"Nothing much, Sir. I do have some medical reports to finish up, but other than that I'm not too busy." Doc stuck his fork into the mush on his tray and left it there, handle sticking straight upwards, "Why?"

* * *

"This is a terrible idea."

What are you saying?" Dusty questioned, "This is an awesome idea!"

Sometime later, the trio found themselves in the Training Room within the Venetor-class Star Destroyer that was specifically made to be used by Jedi and other Force Sensitive. In his thus far limited time abord _Oracle_, Athos had come to be quite familiar with this room, as he and his Master often came here at least once a day for multiple hours, but sometimes it was even longer and more frequent than that. The chamber looked like the inside of a massive cube, with the floor, walls, and even the ceiling cut into evenly spaced segments shaped like squares. The room was brightly lit and everything was a perfectly pristine white color reminiscent of the old Simulation Rooms on Kamino save for a the center of the floor in which featured a rounded ornate design that was colored purple, where Athos' currently stood. On each of the walls, the symbol of the Jedi Order was proudly displayed, black standing out against a white background, and high up on the wall opposite the way they came in was a Control Room solely occupied by Doc, who had been selected to oversee Athos' test.

Near the only doorway out of the Training Room save the two located on either side of the Control Room which was far too high on the walls for any normal being to reach, Dusty shifted from one foot to the other, Z-6 on a sling around his torso and with both hands on the trigger and grip respectively, aiming the multi-barreled weapon towards the floor. Laying just behind his left ankle and measuring about as high was a rectangular, ominous dark grey weapons crate with yellow markings indicated that the content was dangerous and should be handled with caution. Stretching out with the Force, Athos could tell that there was nothing organic inside, and while he wasn't massively familiar with non-light-based weapons, he had a troubling idea concerning what exactly was inside it.

For a split second, Athos wanted to agree with Doc; maybe this _was _a terrible idea. However, he quickly pushed the notion back down, for he'd already come too far to quite now. Even aside from proving himself to the higher-ups, there was an ulterior motive to this exercise.

Even now, he could feel it deep down in his core, compelling him to commit all manner of unsightly acts and deplorable behaviors. Being a Zeltron, Athos was naturally geared towards a hedonistic lifestyle. Fighting, drinking, gambling, taking drugs, and yes, screwing as well, those were all urges that those of his species would fight and more often than not submit to on a daily basis. It wasn't that his was personality was just like that, but more that it was like a biological addiction, something so deeply intertwined with his DNA that he simply couldn't function as an organism without it. However, it also threatened to make him a slave to his own desires, forever chasing one meaningless rush of ecstasy after another for as long as he lived. Maybe if his life had gone another way, he would have been fine with living for no reason other than to satisfy his petty wants, only ever dreaming of the next great pleasure.

But he was a Jedi, or rather, a Jedi-in-training, and as such, he was supposed to be above the influence.

Well, after a fashion.

See, Jedi _could_ drink, gamble, smoke, and have purely physical relations with another person, for that was considered to be recreation without the facilitation of emotional attachment. Yes, it was deeply frowned upon by most every 'proper' Jedi who would have considered such base activities to be unethical, but it still technically wasn't disobeying the Code. So for Athos, the chief problem wasn't that he had the urges themselves, but rather that he had an excessive degree of them which _was_ a problem given that Jedi were supposed to live frugal and plain lives. There was also the possibility in the case of physical relations that such things would lead to the development of aforementioned attachments, which was indeed directly against the Code.

Of course, even with those privileges, it was still too much, for Athos wished to be the kind of Jedi that would make both his peers and his elders proud, thereby breaking away from the mold that it seemed all members of his species were so often cast in. Thanks to Master Windu, who had found him on Zeltros when he was but a young boy, he now had the opportunity to live a life in service to others and truly make something of himself. And because of Master Vesus, who had taught him how to suppress the worst of most of his inner demons and given him a roadmap for how to learn to control the rest, he could eventually learn to master himself, given time. The Jedi had given him much and instructed him in more, and under their watch, he had grown into a man who both knew better and that he could respect. In some ways, he thought of the Order not just as his family but as his very life, and he would be damned before he ever even considered choosing not to repay them for all they had done for him.

"I admit there are a few small risks," Athos moved a hand to his hip, staring up at the Control Room, "But that's why you're here Doc; to minimize any damage that might occur. More specially, to make sure that Dusty doesn't accidentally blow a hole in this ship during testing. Also, we went ahead and tuned every weapon used in this scenario only to stun or deliver slight burns, so everything should work out fine presuming there isn't a variable we've failed to account for."

"That really doesn't make me feel any better, Sir." Doc noted aloud, "And why, pray tell, are we even doing this again?"

"Do you want the short version or the long version?" Athos questioned, raising an eyebrow.

"Whichever one I will understand better, Sir."

"Short version it is then," Athos began, "Recently, Master Vesus gave me an assignment meant to help me strengthen my connection with the Force, and at first I was just going to go and do it, but then I got to thinking. Why merely pass when I can exceed expectations beyond what he possibly could have expected? Besides, I needed some more practice anyway, as it simply wouldn't do for me to up and get shot somewhere important on my very first deployment. Yes, I know my Master might have a few qualms with my taking the initiative in this manner, but I'm sure that he'll come around when he's seen– er, felt my improvements. Now, after about a day of preparing, several tiny, _tiny_ tweaks, and the recruitment of some folks to help me out, here we are."

"And you're sure you want to go through with this, Sir? As a medical professional, I would be remiss not to inform you that this course of action seems highly inadvisable." Athos could sense the apprehension emanating from Doc as clearly as he'd heard it in his voice, faint but no less clear.

"Sir, please say yes!" Dusty whispered loudly, "I went to a lot of trouble getting this-" He nudged the crate next to him with his foot, "From the Quartermaster, so I'd rather not have to return it to the Armory without using it even just once."

"I can still hear you." Doc broke in, "And speaking of which, what's actually in there?"

"A surprise."

"What kind of surprise?"

Dusty took a moment to answer "… The best kind of surprise."

"You really aren't going to tell me what's in there, are you?"

"Nope!"

Athos crossed his arms, smiling with amusement as he cut into the conversation, "You know, I could just order you to tell us, if I really wanted to."

"You could, Sir," Dusty conceded, then rallied, "But where's the fun in that?"

"Fair enough." Athos shrugged then turned back to face the Control room, "Thank you for the concern Doc, but I'm quite sure about this decision, so please signal a start to the exercise when ready."

"I… As you wish, Sir," Doc finished reluctantly, after which a moment of silence followed as he went about doing something neither Athos nor Dusty could properly see. "Beginning 'Phase One'."

Athos immediately bent down to place both hands on the flooring and then pushed on them, bringing himself up into a handstand. Though his overtunic, ponytail, and Padawan braid flapped what was normally upwards but now downwards in response to the change in gravity, his other articles of clothing stayed in place including his lightsabers, which were too securely clipped to his belt to move so easily, and so did no more than wobble a bit as he went about completing the action. As he closed his eyes, he felt his muscles working to keep him in position and knew that with how hard he trained, he could likely stay in this position for a considerable amount of time if he wished, but the purpose of this exercise was not so much in the physical as it was in the mental and spiritual.

He stretched outwards with the Force, feeling both the life forms near him. Dusty was excited, grinning beneath his helmet as he watched his Commander prepare himself for what was to come. While many of his brothers were weary of the Force for the aforementioned reasons, Dusty and those like him were always glad to see displays of it however short or long, and never shied away from a chance to come in close contact with it. To Athos, it seemed he took comfort in the belief that there were forces far greater than just him at work, and while matters of faith or religion were never a very strong factor amongst any of the clones, there were still some who it turned to it for comfort and to try to find the meaning behind it all. Indeed, many religions throughout the galaxy were deeply inclusive, and did not care of for one's race, gender, or degree of birth whether it be natural or through cloning and accepted all comers so long as they professed the right degree of diligence in following their denomination. Of course, not many of the brothers were churchgoing types and fewer still were more worried about trying to convert any of other clones to their faith than simply surviving the next battle, hence why it was still very much a minor factor amongst the clone population at large. For Dusty, the Force wasn't so much a religion to follow as it was a source of consolation, giving him the strength to carry on even when all seems dire and the fight is nearly lost. He can't use it, but he believes in it as strongly as any Jedi, Sith or other assorted Force sensitive. Perhaps that was why Athos was so fond of him, because he wasn't skeptical, intimidated, or afraid, but greeted this strange development in life with open arms. Of course, he wasn't without his flaws…

Doc was a ball of exasperation and distress; he understood the reason behind what was happening but still worried about his Commander's safety. He knew that if he really needed to, he could pull the plug on this on the basis that it was simply too dangerous an activity to partake in, but there was nonetheless a deep kernel of interest buried deep inside him. He'd never seen a Jedi in action up close before, Athos abruptly realized. Yes, from far away, but in a situation where he had an ideal view from which to observe the proceedings? Never. A part of him was eager to see what was happening, and that stayed his hand from shutting this whole thing down or trying to anyway. Still, he was on high alert for any accidents or mishaps, carefully watching not just for the sake of satisfying his curiosity, but also keeping everybody involved from being seriously injured.

Just outside the circle of purple all around him, eight holes opened in the floor through which cylindrical cannisters of varyling weight spiriled through, upon which Athos released himself deeper into the Force, using it shroud himself from the most persistent of his darkest desires before he channeled it into smothering them to the point that for the most part, they fell silent.

Master Vesus had taught him that there were two ways from which to cut himself off from the most carnal of his wants and needs. The first came through mental preoccupation, supplemented by puzzles, strategy games, deep contemplation, and particularly interesting books or study material. Eventually, he found that it was so much easier to block them out once he was deeply engrossed in thinking about something else, which had the fringe benefit of also furthering his education and theoretical worldliness. The second and the one that at times worked even better for Athos was through physical exertion, which came in the form of lightsaber dueling, intense exercise, and training with the Force. He found that once he'd burned any excess energy, it was far easier to sink into deep mediation and assert control over any and all of his faculties.

Slowly, he stretched out, expression scrunching with as he sent a tendril of energy snaking towards each the cylinders and pulling them into his grasp. As he lifted them simultaneously off the floor and let them hover into the air, he started to feel the first beads of sweat congealing in his hairline and under his armpits, for taking each under his own power was like lifting them with his own body, with all the strain that would entail.

The Control Room was silent as Doc took it in, amazed at what he was seeing even as the part of his mind responsible for logic raced to explain to him what was happening in a scientific manner only to fail him utterly. So this was the power that the Jedi wielded? Well then, it would appear the seppies didn't stand as much of a chance as he thought.

Dusty was striding back and forth impatiently, eyes on the display of power and hands wrapped tight around his gun. He'd already seen this a couple of times already as unlike Doc who was often just behind the battlefront tending to the wounded, Dusty had been right on the frontlines during Geonosis, from which he was able witness the powers of the Force first-hand which thereby started him on the path to embracing that which lay beyond the empirical. He'd already seen this trick before, and while he was as amazed as always by it, he was also beginning to feel the first sparks of adrenaline flicker within him as his body realized that his time was soon to come. There was an intensity to him, Athos could feel, but no anger or true malice. This was all good fun to him, nothing more.

Athos let himself flow over, under, and around the canisters, passed both the clones with him and those elsewhere on the ship, through the walls and doors, and pushed aside the various emotions being displayed by everyone around him, seeking a very particular signature that he'd grown to know well over the past couple of years. He didn't need to look very hard, as unlike virtually every other person on this ship, Master Jihehl Vesus was a swirling beacon of Force energy, potent and centered. Eagerly, Athos reached out, trying to make contact with the only other Force Sensitive person on the ship. For a moment, as Master Vesus responded, Athos got a quick if rushed readout on his feelings and was quickly confronted with a wall of pristine calm that Vesus always tried to radiate when his Padawan came a calling. However, he also sensed something deeper within. Was that sorrow, regret, confusion, intrigue and… fear? Athos didn't know, as it was all too muddied for him to clearly understand. What was going on? Did something happen? He tried to dive deeper, only for his probes to slam into his Master's mental shields, the defenses too strong for him to penetrate. Clearly, this was something private, but that didn't stop him from making a note to ask about it later, for the brief wave of negative emotions he'd encountered did not sit well with him in the slightest. He next simply graced his Master with a light nudge, as though to say, _'Hey Master, I'm doing exactly what you assigned me to do.'_

There was an immediate response, the feeling encouraging but curt, signifying that he was pleased with the progress but nonetheless deeply disinterested in a drawn-out exchange of emotions. Come to think of it, that was basically Athos' whole relationship with his Master in a nutshell. He thought about trying to engage again but knew he'd be blocked before he'd even started, so he withdrew back to the Training Room, cutting out all outside activity and centering himself for what was to come.

The cylinders where still levitating, floating around him like pylons but otherwise completely still. He stayed like that for who knew how long, keeping himself in a handstand well after he'd lost track of time. Gradually, he began to feel the pressure of holding up such considerable weights mounting as the first beads of sweat threatened to form, but briskly dug deeper, willing himself to focus only on his connection with the Force and absolutely nothing else.

Both clones had amazingly managed to keep themselves concentrated on what was going around them, neither slipping into inattention as they watched the Jedi go about practicing. Doc was still watching Athos like a Hawk-Bat continually as the minutes ticked by, paying rapt attention for any signs that something was amiss. Dusty however was getting more impatient, his speed hastening as he paced back and forth over and over, his Plastoid boots softly clacking against the durasteel floors as the wait continued to drag on.

Abruptly, salvation came as Doc's voice crackled over the intercom, "Alright, that's enough. Let's move on to Phase Two."

Athos' eyes snapped open as he moved himself back to his feet, gently lowering the canisters back into their respective receptacles after which the floor closed over them. As he began to shrug some feeling back into his arms, he took note of the way Dusty had tensed, carefully adjusting his posture and shifting his feet. The game was afoot, it seemed.

"Sir," Doc continued, "I must ask again; are you completely confident in this course of action? If not, then this your last chance to back out."

"Yes, I am," Athos answered without hesitation, feeling sure of himself, "Now please start the exercise."

Doc sighed, "…As you say, Sir."

"Finally!" Dusty exclaimed in relief, for just because he hadn't lost his attention on the proceedings didn't mean he hadn't been bored. "That took forever! I thought I was going to be a senile old man by the time you finished. No offense, Sir."

"None taken." As Athos watched the barrels of Dusty's Z-6 begin to spin up rapidly, he once again wondered if maybe Doc was right and that this had been an awful idea. He knew that as a practitioner of Form II, his style naturally struggled when confronted with blaster-wielding adversaries no matter the size the weapon or how fast it fired. A normal hand blaster alone could be a challenge for one who was either untrained or unprepared, Athos however had long since surpassed that relatively simple level even with the handicap thanks not only to skill and practice, but also the compensation of adding a second saber to his arsenal. Still, a Rotary Blaster Cannon was a whole different animal entirely, for Athos had never trained directly against one before but had seen the kind of damage it could dish out from the holorecordings and knew that he had his work cut out for him. After all, given that full-fledged Knights and occasionally Masters struggled to defend against them, that should be reason enough neither to underestimate their effectiveness nor overestimate his own skills. Yes, Athos knew he was capable, but he wasn't unbeatable or perfect. Nobody was.

"Phase Two is commencing in five…four…three…two…" Doc counted off, "One."

Athos' sabers were off his belt and in his hands within a split second, twin yellow blades flaring to life even as he dropped into a combat-ready stance, waiting for that which was to inevitably to come.

Simultaneously Dusty took a step forward, solidifying his stance as leveled the weapon at his commanding officer. "Here comes the heat!"

The next thing Athos knew, his world was little more than a hailstorm of blue blaster fire.

* * *

**Okay all, here is the next chapter. ****Now, a couple things.**

**So this was originally twice as long, but I cut the second half because I wasn't sure how to finish and I worried that some of what transpired might kneecap me in the future. Also, I've been busy with real life stuff again, so I didn't really get the chance to upload until just now. **

**I struggled a bit writing this at the start because I wasn't sure how to play all the characters, but I feel the ending was decently strong. I apologize if I didn't write your character as you wished, but hey, I tried.**

**So, I noticed on my last chapter that the number of people reviewing has dropped considerably down to only two. Now I get it, it's not your character in the spotlight at the moment, so maybe there isn't much you really want to say. Still though, I read every review I get, so know that I see whatever you post even if I don't necessarily write back, and words cannot describe how much even a small one means to me. What I'm getting at here is that your reviews give me the encouragement I need to continue writing for you, and is the third of the three factors that play into how fast I update, with the other two being inspiration and available time. So even if it's only a sentence or just a couple of words, please consider leaving a review if you enjoy this story. Or don't, it's your choice. **

**To the 20-30% of you who are probably still reading this, the final piece of business is that I have a story idea I've been sitting on for a couple a weeks which I'm rather pleased with, but I have no idea if you guys would like to read something such as that, so I posted a poll on my profile which should be available now. As with the reviews, please consider voting if you have time. I don't want to spoil too much, but it's a very new angle that I've been wanting to explore for some time now and it also pioneers a few certain types of OCs that I haven't really seen much of before excepting a handful of cases in more ways than one. Concerning those of you who might be worried that means I'm putting this story on hold or even abandoning it in favor of something else, DON'T. I for one as well as a few others put way too much work into this just to quit now, so there isn't a chance I'm ever going to put this down if I can help it.**

**As always, expect periodic revisions as I read back through my chapters and correct any obvious errors I see.**

**Alright, that's enough for now. Until next time!**


	9. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

"Alright, Phase Two complete."

At once, the spinning of the Z-6 ceased, cutting off the waves of blaster fire that had once been harrying Athos nonstop.

He froze in place as the very last bolt bounced off the blade in his left hand, impacting upon the ground in front and a little to the side of where he was standing, leaving a tiny dark scorch mark in it's wake. Reflexively, he clenched his right hand, missing the feeling of his other saber he usually held within it, but had since lost it in the onslaught of lasers. That had been a mistake born of haste and surprise as he'd tried to move it in such a way that he could block two that were coming at nearly the same time, but had overextended himself in trying to do so. He'd known the bolts would come fast, but knowing the approximant speed and actually experiencing it are often two very different things. He straightened slowly, wiping at the beads of sweat rolling down his forehead as he thumbed the ignition of his remaining lightsaber but kept it squarely in his palm, letting his hand fall to his side as the end to this segment of the training scenario came at last.

Roughly twenty feet away, Dusty let the business end of his weapon droop downwards as his shoulders sagged, smoke rising off the muzzle as it glowed orange due to having been fired continually to the point of overheating. Factually speaking, it hadn't taken that long but to Athos, it felt like it had taken forever before it finally stop spitting brilliant blue death at him. The clone holding the weapon was delighted, the Force informed him, the adrenaline giving him a high he always hated coming back down from. His helmet hid it, but Athos could tell he was grinning from ear to ear. "Well would you look at that, I disarmed a Jedi!"

"Uh, untrue," Athos contested, shaking the lightsaber he still yet had for emphasis. "I've got one left." After which, he took his eyes off the clone to look for his errant lightsaber. He was sure it bounced somewhere behind him...

"But it _is_ one less than you had to begin with." Dusty argued, lifting his trigger hand temporarily off the blaster so as to shake the growing stiffness out of it.

"And even being down that other saber, I would still be considered armed as common sense would dictate, the sentiment backed up by the legions upon legions of Jedi who favor using only a single blade to fight or defend." Ah, there it was, lying not too far away, temporarily forgotten as Athos had struggled to keep from being hit even once. Thankfully being curved rather than cylindrical, it hadn't gotten too far, the natural shape of the hilt keeping it from gaining much momentum. He stretched his hand towards it and a moment later, it flew into his empty palm. "So no, you can't go around telling anyone that you outfought a Jedi, even one in training."

"Aw..." Dusty slumped before pulling himself back up, his disappointment at being denied bragging rights disappearing as quickly at it had come. "Oh well. Easy come, easy go."

"You never had it to begin with though..." Doc muttered over the intercom, reminding both people in the training room they weren't alone.

"Doc," Athos looked up to the control room, "You saw the whole thing, so could you tell me how I did? In the form of a grade, if you wouldn't mind."

"What?" Doc questioned as Athos imagined he was leaning back in his seat, feeling the mild confusion and dismay in the clone, "I didn't know I was supposed to be grading you Sir and besides, isn't that more the area of General Vesus?"

"Normally yes but he's not here at the moment, as you well know." Athos answered, sliding his sabers back onto his belt, "That is precisely the point however. I'm asking you because I want to know how my fighting looks to someone who is untrained in the arts of lightsaber combat. If my weaknesses are obvious even to a person doesn't know anything, than it gives me that much more information on what I seriously need to work on." Athos smiled warmly as he felt the medic's anxiety spike, "And no, this isn't a test Doc, so there's no need to overthink or worry about it. Just an honest appraisal is all I want."

"Uh, yes Sir," Doc began awkwardly, trying to formulate a response that would be deemed satisfactory, "Well for Phase One..."

"Oh, not Phase One." Athos interrupted with a slight shake of his head. "I already know there's no probable way you could accurately judge _that_. Just Phase Two, alright?"

"Yes Sir," He responded neutrally, but Athos could tell that had alleviated some of the pressure, "For Phase Two then... You deflected or avoided every shot that would have killed or seriously crippled you in a real-life combat situation, but you did get grazed a couple of times, mostly at the start when you were still adjusting. Still, you managed to compensate well enough afterward though. The lack of a perfect score stems from the fact that one of your lightsabers got shot out of your hand around the midway point but judging from the lack of a pained reaction, I think the bolt hit the hilt and not your flesh, which redeems some of the failure as you were still able to angle it in such a way that you didn't hurt yourself. Be that as it may Sir, I don't know anything about how to use a lightsaber but I understand vibroblades well enough to see that when you lost that second blade, you started moving a bit... weirdly, I guess? Your motions didn't look as natural as before, even if you were still operating effectively enough for avoid any harm. So...C plus, maybe?"

Athos grimaced at the clone's unexpected accuracy, a hand reaching back to caress the hilt of the one to his right. It was true that he'd been neglecting building up his experience with a single saber in favor of better learning how to duel-wielding, but he'd hoped to master that style well enough that the chances of losing even one would be very little. However, it appeared he'd fallen into the trap present within the style in that he was starting to become dependent on having both in his hands at any given time and that would prove to be his downfall one day should he meet someone who knew how to exploit that. He nodded to himself as he made a mental note to start working on that a little later.

"C plus?!" Dusty cried incredulously, "Doc, you didn't see what it looked like up close but I did and I can tell you that what I witnessed was flipping amazing. That right there was worth a B at least!"

"No, he's right," Athos sighed, internally wondering if that was what an overly attentive parent sounded like, "C plus would be about accurate... Alright, I think that's all I had planned out for today." He looked to the other clone in the room as him, "So Dusty, would you finally tell us what's really in there?" Athos gestured to the large crate that had been set aside up to this point.

"With pleasure, this was the moment I was waiting for, after all." Dusty told him with an edge of excitement to his voice, "Commander, Brother, otherwise empty room, welcome to Phase Three."

"Phase Three?" Doc stood up from his seat, giving a better view of himself to the Training Room, "Dusty, what are you talking about? There is no Phase Three!"

"Oh yes there is!" Dusty insisted, backing up a couple of steps and then returning to where he was a moment later, dragging the massive container back with him in a remarkable feat of strength, using only one hand while the other kept hold of the Z-6. He then crouched, taking a moment to fiddle the latches until they came undone before his fingers curled around the lid."Feast your eyes on an idea all my own!" In a display of showmanship, he made a point pulling it open as grandly as possible while exaggerating ever little movement, giving both his fellows a view of what was inside.

A beat of silence followed.

"...You're insane." Doc deadpanned numbly.

What lay before them was what is commonly known as a Plasma Launcher; a weapon capable of firing superheated bundles of plasma which would explode upon making contact with a surface of any kind, be it an object or a person. Though roughly classified as an anti-infantry weapon, given how easily it shredded through body armor and flesh alike, it also did spectacularly well against certain vehicles. It was by all appearances a very heavy weapon, one that could have been considered about equal to the Z-6 in terms of weight but was much larger and more unwieldy, making it impossible to run with or maneuver in an efficient manner. It was also a streamlined piece of hardware that looked no different from any other particular member of the model, but that had always seemed rather strange to Athos given the sheer of amount of damage it could inflict. It looked so... ordinary, even though it was anything but.

"Maybe," Dusty informed him cheerfully, "But if so, then it's the best kind of insane!"

"There are no good forms of insanity!" Doc almost shouted, sounding utterly dumbfounded.

Meanwhile, Athos was thinking on a different wave length as he studied the same weapon Dusty was looking at, his arms crossing before a hand went up to rub at his chin. His failure, while not massive, was simply not acceptable his own standards and his was sure his Master would have likewise said as much. He had to redeem himself in some way, show that he was still an excellent Jedi learner even if his saber deflection skills needed some work and lucky for him, Dusty had coincidentally provided him with an opportunity to do so. He couldn't pass that up, not when it had been offered to him at such a timely moment. Yes, there was a certain danger to it which made him perhaps a little nervous deep down, but he was confident he could handle it. He just had to.

"... I like it," Athos decided, fighting not to grin as his eyes glided up and down Dusty's prize, "I like where your head's at," He looked to the clone expectantly, "Though now I'm not quite sure how to incorporate this lovely piece of tech into my routine."

"Way ahead of you, Sir," Dusty turned to look up at the control room, "Hey Doc, I've already set up the exercise, so would you mind activating it for me?"

"Absolutely not!" Doc denied vehementently, peering down at them "Dusty, you and I both know that if you score a direct hit on the Commander with that thing, you'll reduce him to paste. There is no way I'm just gonna sit back and let it happen!"

"And it won't," Dusty crouched, hands reaching for the Launcher, "As much like with the Z-6, I modified it to ensure that no serious or lasting damage would be exacted beyond maybe a couple of first-degree burns and whatever the walls or floor might do should the Commander be thrown into any of them. It took me awhile, and I had to recruit Starboard to help me with the finer aspects of the tech, but we've tested it and are both confident it will work. Of course, I'm going to have to see him about getting it changed back to it's original state when all is said and done which will almost certainly be a pain, but it'll all be worth it if this goes well. Furthermore, the Commander is a Jedi, so if anybody has a chance at avoiding the blasts, he does. Plus, again, you're a medical professional, so I'm sure that you can more than handle it if anything goes wrong."

"I..." Doc collapsed back into his chair, heaving a deep breath, "As you say then. What's the code?"

"TS-3759-03. Once you've entered that in, push the square-shaped red button located on the monitor above you before pulling down on the second to last of the rightmost lever located on the console to your left."

The faint sound of fingers tapping against the keyboard, a clink, and than a mild electronic purr. "And... done. Phase Three initiated."

Immediately, he watched as the panels all along the room distended and slid, several pieces of the flooring revealed to house repulsorlifts which sent them slowly raising up into the air one-by-one, eventually arranging themselves into a path that could be walked through a series of acrobatics. Not all were still however, as several set about floating up and down while others moved from left to right and back again, adding another layer of difficulty to the challenge being unveiled. Simultaneously, the walls gave way to present grating underneath, perfect for climbing upwards or side-to-side, examples of which both were present now as he continued to watch a once static room become infinitely more dynamic then it once had been. Finally, a small hook sallied out of a ceiling tile in the very middle of the room and from it hung a small, rough spun brown pouch.

"Okay..." Doc took in the changes to the room with an air of mild apprehension, "Dusty, as creator of... whatever this is, would you please share what the objective of the exercise is with the rest of the class?"

"Sure thing good buddy." Dusty regarded Athos as he turned lightly to more directly face the young Jedi, a carefree air to his movements. "The objective is simple enough; climb to the ceiling of the room using these platforms while dodging fire from my Launcher and once there, collect the pouch I have tied to the hook before safely returning to the ground below. Oh, and don't get shot. That part is really important. Any questions Sir?"

"Uh, yeah," Athos answered, having since beaten down the wave of surprise that had hit him full force and already trying to map his way to the top, "What's in the pouch?"

"Eh, nothing much." Dusty had turned away, setting down the Z-6, as he lifted the massive launcher up with a muffled groan, muscles straining under the armor to hold it's incredible weight. Dusty was a trained heavy weapons specialist, but this was a challenge even for him. There was a reason this sort of weapon was usually mounted on a bipod or a vehicle, after all. "Just a couple of stacks of sheet metal roughly the size of some credit chits I... liberated from Engineering. I wouldn't expect them get upset and come looking for them though, these thing are about a dime a dozen and I even overheard one of the workers complaining that they had too many, so I figured they wouldn't mind if I were to lighten their load a bit."

"You stole from the Engineers?!" Doc's voice rang out, dismayed.

"No, I didn't steal anything, I just took what I needed without asking if I could and didn't specify when I would return them." Dusty began running through final checks to make sure the weapon was combat ready, "There's a big difference."

"Okay, that's all I needed to know." Athos broke in before an argument over the nuances of thievery could start, " Just try not to legitamently hit me with that thing. Modifications or not, I'd rather not be vaporized if I can help it."

Dusty merely chuckled, "I don't need to send a lob of plasma straight at you to make you feel it's effects, that's one of the beautiful things about heavy weapons," He drew his feet apart, settling in a ready stance, "But I'll take it under advisement, Sir."

"How kind of you to do that for me friend." Athos snarked good-naturedly before hollering upwards as he sauntered up to an imagined 'starting line'. "Doc, begin the countdown!"

"Right away, Sir," Doc leaned forward to better his view, fingers resting against the rim of the control panel. "One."

Athos bent his knees as his left foot slide forward while not far away, Dusty brought the barrel of his new gun up, sights trained on the area around where the first platform was levitating as both made final preparations for their specific roles.

"Two."

They both tensed, Athos eyeing the first platform to his imminent ascent while the clone behind him was boring holes into his back, fingers slowly slithering over the grip to settle against the trigger as the only Jedi present felt his Force signature flare with anticipation one again. Athos twitched, a split second of uncertainty piercing through him, but it was quickly smothered by his sense of confidence. He could do this. He was going to do this.

"... Three!"

He burst into a dash, flying towards his target as fast as his feet could carry him, vaguely hearing the sound of a weapon being charged up in preparation to be fired some ways behind him. He was releasing himself into the Force all the while, calling on it to nourish his body and augment his abilities, making him faster, stronger, and more durable, just as Master Vesus had taught him.

Not even a second after jumping towards what was to be his first piece of flooring which would eventually lead to the top, he felt hot air buffet passed as a loud explosion and a paroxysm of blazing blue plasma danced beneath him before abruptly disappearing, leaving a massive scorch mark easily able to accommodate at least three people standing side by side in it's wake. _'There's the first shot.'_ Athos thought, glancing back at the ground below _'Four more.'_

Simultaneously, the power drawn from the Force propelling his movements was assisted by rush of kinetic energy from the blast which threw which him even further upwards, and he overshot his target a little. He used acrobatics to compensate, rolling into no less than two consecutive front flips before his feet touched the ground before he was sprinting across to the next stop hovering just above him and then turning to his left after which he launched himself into an adjacent wall and set about climbing upwards. A second later, he had to clench hard as the hovering floor panel he'd been standing on only a moment ago rocked to the side as a charge of searing blue plasma rocketed into the collided with it, sending it listing off to the side even as the internal systems struggled to correct it's course. A moment later, it was back where it used to be, through partially burned black and at a rather crooked angle compared to how it used to be. _'Second shot down, three more to go."_

He surged upward, scaling the climbable wall hand-over-hand while his feet moved to occupy the holes his fingers had once dug into if only for a short time. With the aid of the Force, he found himself bolting upwards at a pace even professional climbers and individuals in pristine physical condition would struggle to match. He was almost at the top when yet another ball of energy impacted upon the segment of wall he'd been at only moments before some feet below him, after which he clamped on ever harder to the wall even as it rattled and vibrated, threatening to shake him off if he loosened his grip even a little. Thankfully, the sensation was short lived and he was able to make it the rest of the way up only a few seconds later. _'And that would be the third shot, only two more left.'_

He kicked off, launching himself in reverse towards where he knew a safe landing was waiting for him and then breaking into a backward roll as he touched down upon it before whipping around and skittering across it. His next platform was perfectly sideways, sitting at a 90 degree angle and stretching on for so long that no normal person could have hoped to try and cross it without falling.

Fortunately, Athos wasn't normal.

Wasting not a single moment, he leapt upon it and continued running, using the Force to keep himself plodding forward as far along as he could, closing the distance to the next platform within a handful of seconds through an athletic feat that shouldn't have been possible and yet was happening right at this moment. Indeed, had he been paying more attention, he might have heard Doc breathlessly murmur "No way.", but was too caught up in what he was doing to pay much attention to anything other than trying not to fall at that time.

But even then, as he did a quick evaluation of his situation, he knew it wasn't enough. If he'd been taller, he would have likely reached the end and stepped off the wall onto the floor with little to no problem, but he'd been being born small and that was working against him as of right then. He drew even further from the Force, trying to latch to the wall as best as he was able, but it could only keep him up for so long before his strength failed him and he would be sent plummeting to failure. He was going to come up short, and the only hope he had was to make another jump for it.

As his left foot scraped against the bottom rim, he focused all the energy he'd accumulated into his feet and pushed off just as yet another salvo of blue smashed into his general location. This time however, it was aimed in such a way that it destabilized Athos and nearly ruined his timing. He glided as far as he as was able, flipping in an effort to get even just that little bit more air time, but even through his desperation to safely touchdown upon his intended destination, he was distantly aware that he wasn't going to plant his feet on this one. He watched even as he was falling in it's direction as his feet, his legs, and finally his waist were parallel to it, before feeling the air evacuate his lungs as his sternum rammed full force into the edge.

He clawed along the surface to no avail before he found himself dangling off the lip and relying on his grip strength not to fall. He paused a moment before battling through the pain to push himself over the edge then roll onto it with the aid of the Force. Kneeling and taking a small breather, he focused on the ache in his midsection and attempted to accurately judge the damage, finding given it's lack of intensity, this was the kind of stinging sensation which he was sure he was going to be feeling for a few moments longer, but would probably disappear almost immediately after that. _'Second to last shot and the closest yet, which leaves only one more...'_

"Commander, you alright?!" Doc, as evidenced by the electric twinge of sound being filtered through technology accompanying the words.

"I'm fine," Athos gasped, slowly rising back to his feet as his eyes scanned his next obstacle; a small staircase. Good, he needed something relatively easy after all that. "Just got the wind knocked out of me." He began lightly jogging up to the first step, "We're continuing with the exercise."

"You sure you want to do that, Sir?" The sound of Dusty's voice reached him from below, trying to sound lighthearted, but Athos' could feel the slight concern emanating from him.

"Positive, now stop worrying about me and start thinking about where to place your last shot," Athos took that moment to look down and felt a slight pang of immediate regret as he registered how high up off the ground he was now. Yeah, looking down was a mistake, he realized. Maybe not as bad as peering over the edge of a mountain, but he was pretty he was gonna end up looking much worse than Chief probably did if he fell from here and didn't make use of the Force in assisting his landing.

As he reached the last step, he turned to see that stretching before him was a perfectly aligned bridge, made so that he would not have to so much as hop across even once while he was traversing it. And at the end, hanging just out, a reach, his prize was waiting for him. Beyond it on the other side was a last singular square of flooring, floating about in it's own space and disconnected from every other piece of the path he'd climbed up here. The distance would have been untenable for the average person, but not somebody who could gain strength from the power which bound the galaxy and all who live in it together.

He took a deep breath, having fully recovered from his minor spill a level below, and lifted his right foot into the air in a bid to advance but froze mid-step before lowering it back to where it had been previously. A seemingly straight path right to his goal? Too easy. Everything about it reeked of a trap. But what the trap? His eyes darted around, trying to find something on the walls, floors, and ceiling but came up empty, as nothing he could see hinted at anything untoward and the Force was not of much help when it came to the reading the intentions of synthetic and robotic beings. He brief check-up on the clones bore no fruit as Doc seemed to be in the dark as he was and Dusty's feelings didn't tell him anything he didn't already know or suspect. He could tell the next shot was about to come just by fleetingly gracing Dusty's unshielded mind but that he was waiting for a certain point to occur before he used it, something else Athos didn't know.

The only possible source of danger left would be the path itself, which gave him a clue as to what to prepare for. What was it his Master would have said in a situation like this? _"A path may appear easy, but ease often comes with an unspoken price to be payed at considerable personal cost. That is the folly of the Sith, for many amongst them believed they could take the most immediate path to power with no repercussions whatsoever, and so either didn't know or didn't care about what they stood to lose in gaining it. Trust not your eyes, but the Force to guide you through uncertainty and guard you against deceit."_ Yeah, that seems kind of Jedi-like. Well, if the only way to unveil a trap was to walk into it, then he guessed he was walking.

He haunched down, then streaked forward and almost immediately felt the way beneath his feet begin to shudder ominously. He reached the next section of the bridge just as it finally gave and commenced falling towards the ground at a rapid speed, but there was no rest to be had for even as he reached what he thought would be a stable part of the path, but then that too became unsteady. That was the trap; he couldn't walk this bridge and expect to pass, so if he wanted to have any chance of making it, he would have to run.

He didn't hesitate after that, pushing himself ever forward, undaunted by the instability of the bridge or the uncertainty of if he could push off with enough power to make the jump, absently nothing the way the previous segment he stepped would disappear almost as soon as he moved his foot. Again, his smaller size was slowing him some, but he was still moving at a rapid enough pace that he could keep just ahead of the curve and stay on target. He almost didn't register when he reached the ramp but the next he knew, he was flying through the air towards the pouch, right hand outstretched as he came ever closer to ending this for good.

Just a little closer...

Just a little...

…There!

His hand clasped around his prize and for a moment, time seemed to slow as a feeling of weightlessness overtook him, his fingers tracing around the coarse brown material at a speed measuring a couple of seconds rather than just half of one. Gently, his fingers tightened around the sack, and maneuvered his wrist so that it would smoothly slip off the hook. Once he had it, he brought to closer, securing what he held to him even as his sight moved to the platform on the other side, where he was aiming to land now that he had what he came for. Even now, he could feel the little tablets inside the bag and true to what he'd been told, they felt just like credit chits. Time sped back up as a part the ceiling less then ten yards from the hook opposite of the way he was going combusted into azure fire and again he felt himself get thrown faster than he'd anticipated he'd be going. _'Last shot, he's out.' _A moment of relief found Athos, but it was quickly punctuated by the fact that the ground was coming up fast and he could hang around the air defying gravity forever. He needed to keep moving, and move he did.

He adjusted his trajectory, aware that he couldn't stick the landing as he'd previously intended, but he could certinaly turn it into a spin that would keep him on track without sending him too far over.

His legs buckled upon contact with his target, and just as he planned, he redistributed his weight to compensate. When he came to a complete stop, he was on the very edge of the opposite of the panel, and needed only to tilt his head a little to get a full view of the floor so far below. He glanced around, trying to find where he should go next and how he was to get down when a buzzing reached his ears, and he redirected his vision left to see that another bridge was sliding out to greet him, though this one lead directly to an access doorwhich would take him into the control room.

It appeared he was finished, a sentiment which was proven correct when he heard Dusty call up to him, You did it, better than I could have hoped for as well!" A pause, "Starboard is going to freak when I tell him how it went down!"

After crossing through, he turned left again through another door which brought him right into the control room, just in time to see Doc press on the intercom button with his index finger even as he was concurrently running the test data. "Well then, we should finish here so that I can hurry back to the Med Bay and prepare some tranquilizers for him." It was a joke, which was good to see after the constant mental gymnastics he'd been putting himself through worrying over his Commander.

Athos deposited his bag on top of the nearest control console to the right of the door and then leaned upon Doc's chair checking what the system had just compiled and going over his own results. It was good. No, it was beyond good... But maybe it could be better. "Actually, I'm thinking Starboard and his possible tranquilizers may have to wait."

Doc's head whipped around to look at him, and he was met with a wide, pearly-white smile. "Sir, what are you...?!"

Athos bent further, placing his own finger upon the intercom button once taken up by Doc, and projected his own voice into the room below. "Hey Dusty, how do we reset the exercise? I'm feeling like a second try is in order... So it appears you get to hold onto that Launcher of yours for just a little longer."

Athos was pretty sure Dusty's following cry of unabashed joy could be heard from two or more rooms over.

* * *

"Perhaps it would have been better not let you keep that thing." Master Mace Windu lowered his head, pinching the bridge of his nose as he fought off a wave of weariness, "I should have turned it over to the Shadows for summery destruction when I had the chance."

"But you didn't." Jihehl reminded his old friend, fingers folded in his lap.

Mace had always been the more cautious between the two of them, the more suspicious. He was always careful never to let his guard down in the face of the Dark Side or artifacts and items imbued with it's unsavory power, seeking only ever their destruction or imprisonment while keeping them far out of reach from those who would abuse their powers. He did not know what many of them did nor did he care to find out, for as far he was concerned, such objects and what secrets they contained were little more than poison for the mind and soul. Never once had he wavered by considering the power it could give him or the secrets it could enlighten him to, and shunned any such offer or impulse otherwise. Some would have called it dogmatic to the point of foolishness, but others would recognize it to be an exemplary display of self-control and dedication to the Light Side of the Force.

For Jihehl, it was different.

While others may have been satisfied with keeping themselves unapprised, Jihehl wanted more than that. He desired answers, even of the sort others did not have the smallest drive to understand. To him, every beginning must have an end and every day-cycle must also have a contrasting night-cycle. Never should one be pleased with an unproven answer nor give themselves over to hearsay and myth, but strive in all things to uncover only the truth, no matter how disturbing or scandalous it may be. After all, _there is no ignorance, there is only knowledge._ Isn't that right? Jihehl thought so, for if it meant enlightening himself, then he was all too willing to go places few other Jedi would have dared to think of treading.

"But I didn't." Mace sighed, regarding the Mireluka Master through the Holocomm, "And so, now I have yet another headache to contend with."

"_We_, Mace." That was how it was when it was just the two of them; not Master Windu nor Master Vesus, but Mace and Jihehl. When surrounded by peers and subordinates, proper courtesy must be observed as dictated by tradition. But in private, away from eyes and ears who would peep and pry, such rules need not be observed depending on the subject and those discussing it. Kind of like now. "We have another headache to contend with. Well, not that I consider it as such; this is actually quite fascinating to me."

"Well, that makes one of us," Mace remarked, shifting his feet, "Let's take this from the top. Would you please remind me of the last time you received yet another vision from that artifact?" Gesturing to the amulet still clasped between Jihehl's hands. Jihehl made to reply, but found himself cut off just as he was opening his mouth. "An _instructive_ vision." Mace emphasized before Jihehl could actually get a word out. "Today does not count."

"From a certain point of view, that is very much disputable." Jihehl leaned back in his chair,

"On it's disputability, we are agreed," Mace replied, ever the cynic, "But one factor of the discussion at a time, if you would."

"After today, it will have been about a month." Jihehl proclaimed after a moment, struggling to keep a frown from crossing his face. "They stopped just after Geonosis and perhaps more intriguingly, the emergence of the Sith."

"A month, and at the same time as our age-old enemies resurface. Sounds to me like it could be more than coincidence." Mace reiterated, to which Jihehl nodded. Indeed the timing was far too perfect. "At any rate, this was the longest you've ever gone without receiving anything. Until now, that is. Why might that be?"

"Well, it's possible I could have just reached the last of the information stored inside. That said, something about it feels... unfinished." Jihehl speculated, looking thoughtful. "It's like there is this big hole in the middle of my repertoire where the rest of the skills I have yet to learn should be, but there is nothing there."

"Well, from what I've seen and you've told me, it might be that this pendent works like a Holocron in that it stores lessons on the art of wielding a lightsaber or understanding the Force as well as recounts of past, present, and future people, places or events. Also like a Holocron however, it is based on the opinions, outlooks, and counsel of the one who made it, so it can be incomplete, biased, or even outright wrong. Therefore, the person who preserved what's within there could have been still in the midst of pioneering the study when they recorded it..." Mace looked at Jihehl expectantly.

"Rather than giving us a finished copy." Jihehl finished, apprasing the pendent once more. "And based on the fact that this craftsmanship is from sometime around the time of the Old Republic, I could see why. Back then, Sith were dropping by the dozens practically every other minute, so the person who created this was likely afraid that they would die before they completed their work."

"I would say that their fear was well-founded, if you have indeed reached the last lesson." Mace noted, crossing his arms, "But be that as it may, we can't be certain that the being who created that didn't also make another or even a few more copies of what you have, either as backups to what you are holding there in case it's lost or destroyed, or as the continuation to the instruction you have received thus far presuming they did indeed finish what they were inventing."

So you're saying there could be more out there?" Jihehl questioned.

More than just this one? Now there was a displeasing thought, for while the pendant he had was safely in his hands and well out of the clutches of Dooku or his cohorts, the probability of others existing meant they could still well discover some of the secrets he had learned. And unlike Jihehl, who tried to temper things as well as he could without sacrificing efficiency or authenticity, they would have no such inhibitions. Maybe it would not be felt immediately or very largely, but the ramifications of such a thing occurring would be dire indeed, and that would be quite unacceptable.

"I'm saying that I have no real way of knowing, as this is all entirely theoretical. Either way, what I've seen thus far is rather troubling." Mace answered.

"And why would that be?" Jihehl cocked an eyebrow, setting an arm on the table before him.

"I think you know as well as I. The bladework you demonstrated when we last met previously was wild to such an incredible degree that I would stuggle to even call it a proper form of lightsaber combat. Even Form 1, at it's most raw, was more disciplined and orderly than that. What you showed me had the hallmarks of Juyo in that it's offense was overwhelming, but the minimum amount of emotional heat needed to properly wield it was twice as strong. Furthermore, it lacked finesse and it's defense was practically nonexistent." Mace elaborated with brutal honesty. "I can scarcely imagine anyone deploying that in combat as it is and doing especially well in the long-term or even the somewhat short-term provided the Form's practitioner was properly trained and very much sane, so I'm inclined to believe this variant style either wasn't finished yet or had been the handy work of someone so emotionally tormented, it's difficult for me to imagine they were able to even function as a person. Then again, perhaps that too might be a reason for it's present form; that the mind of wielder must be so fractured and haunted, their opponent cannot attempt to read their movements and gain a step ahead in the fight without risking losing themselves in their madness. From what I can tell, it's like the creator was trying to turn their own psychosis into a weapon, assisted by the power of the Dark Side. Creative and bold, but also sloppy and unreliable, not to mention so unfathomably dangerous and stupid that I'm surprised it even works at all."

It was true. The style had been rough to say the least, and he'd realized as much from his very first vision of it. It had potential, but needed to be honed and further modified to be of any practical use in a real-life combat situation and as used by a someone who wasn't a complete loon. Luckily, between himself and the expertise of Master Windu, most of what he'd seen had been cultivated so that he could use it without risking immediate death the second things stopped going his way or because he otherwise failed to meet the typical criteria. For Jihehl's part, He was infinitely glad that he could count the premier user of Form VII within the Jedi Order as a close colleague, as he was uncertain he could have made such progress without the help he'd been given. Now, the variant of the Form they'd developed together was nearly complete and more or less ready for battle.

Still, Mace had made him promise to be judicial in exercising it beyond a controlled environment, as its pull towards darkness was even stronger than that of the typical variant of Juyo and not all the kinks had been fully worked out. Truthfully, Jihehl didn't know how well he would be able to keep that promise now that a war had kicked off, but he was inclined to try. He owed Mace that much, at the very least.

"Speaking of our mysterious creator, were you able to uncover any further information on them?" Jihehl asked, fingers trailing the soft leather of his chair's armrests.

Mace nodded after a moment, brow furrowing in thought, "Not much, but some. The trail leads back to a rogue Sith by the name of 'Darth Nocturnas' who as you said mentioned quite correctly, lived during the time of the Old Republic. And before you ask, no, I don't know anything else about this person at the current time. Race, age, gender, homeworld, and the exact specifics of where, when, why, and how they died all escape me... though the texts did give a vague implication that the Jedi and Sith Order both had hand in their death." He interrupted Jihehl before even the first syllable of the sentence he had prepared could pass the Mireluca Master's lips. "I also don't have any additional information on exactly which Jedi Knights or Sith Warriors were involved either, but not for lack of trying. What about you? Anything you wish to share?"

"Why yes, as a matter of fact," Jihehl tilted his head as he regarded the Jedi Council Member who hailed from Haruun Kal with eyes which did not see in a way that could be at all considered conventional, " I believe this 'Nocturnas' was a woman, as upon reviewing some of my prior visions, I attempted to recall exactly what the fighter within them looked like. Unfortunately, I too do not know exact age and race as she was wearing a mask, but the shape of her figure informed me that she was likely both female and either Human or Near Human."

"Hm, duly noted." Mace grunted, "In other news, I also combed through the Jedi Archives a second time to see if I could find anything you might have missed on your run through it, but that also failed to pan out. No disrespect to the venerable Madame Nu, but it seems she was once again wrong about the Archives containing all relevant information on literally everything in the galaxy."

Jihehl straightened in his seat, "By chance, you didn't give Madame Nu any reason to suspect...?"

"Of course I didn't," Mace snapped brusquely, " As far as she knows, I was looking for more information the Order could use to combat Dooku and when we find him, his Master." Even without saying it outright, Jihehl knew from the tone that Mace wanted to say so much more about what he thought of this situation in it's entirety, but he held his tongue, simply glaring as a way to make his feelings known instead. It was the first hints of an old argument that they'd been having for years now, and one that Jihehl knew he would have to eventually outright lose for the good of both the Jedi Order and Jihehl himself by Mace's reckoning. For now, he kept quiet on behalf of his friend's wishes as well as his own small amount of curiosity on how deep this particular rabbit hole went, but Mace's role in this was continually grating on him nonetheless. He was getting tired of lying not just to the Order, but the other Council members as well. And while he hadn't said it directly as of yet, there was no denying that he was beginning to feel as though Jihehl was taking advantage of his trust by prolonging things as long as he had.

The sad part was that after a fashion, Jihehl was, but not for the reasons one may think. Yes, a large part of it was for the research in the hopes that what he discovered might benefit the next generation of Jedi, but there was something else motivating him... That part of him that wanted, no, _needed_ a piece of the past to hang on to, something to remind him of his failure, something to remind him of her-

_No_.

He couldn't go there right now, not when there was still work to be done.

Breathing deep, Jihehl centered himself, using several decades of instruction in the ways of the Force to bring himself fully into the present.

"Oh, good...I'm glad." Jihehl relaxed, feeling relieved.

"Yes, I'm sure you are." Mace made no attempt to hide his displeasure that statement.

"Well anyway, I'm sure we shall find something more eventually," Jihehl continued, pretending he didn't notice, "It's a big galaxy out there; someone or something must have the information we seek. We only need be patient. However, I fear we've gotten off track. I do believe it's high time we dig into the meat of this discussion as well as the reason I called in the first place; what was the meaning behind tonight's vision and what is the most plausible explanation as to why it happened?"

"That's not too hard to puzzle out," Mace looked into Jihehl's eyeless face,"It did what most artifacts of the Dark Side do when they come in contact with beings who have not fully embraced it; the pendent pinpointed your weaknesses and tried to exploit them, using the pain you've endured and the losses you have suffered to start tormenting your conscience, hoping to twist you into accepting the Dark Side one way or another."

"That wasn't the answer I was hoping for." Jihehl sighed, voice quieting as he replayed what Not-Yalla had said to him, trying and failing to ignore the accompanying small stab of grief.

"But it is the only one that truly makes sense." Mace retorted, eyebrow raising, "Unless of course, you have a another idea?" He then paused as he always did when he was about to speak of Yalla, "... You didn't teach her how to return did you?"

"No!" Jihehl had been startled by the question and so replied with more force than he'd intended, "I mean no, no I didn't. We, um..." He swallowed hard, already struggling to speak her, "I wanted to take more time to work her on lightsaber skills before we moved on to the especially intensive aspects of my curriculum, so we never..." He couldn't say any more, not without losing it. That was just one more in a long line of mistakes he made, one more that he wasn't sure he could ever forgive himself for.

"I see." Was Mace's rather neutral rejoinder, neither comforting nor judgmental.

"Pardon me for asking me this but... are we sure she's truly dead?" Jihehl felt like a moron the moment he asked that question, but the tiny part of him still stuck in denial and eager to believe that this aspect of his life was all just a lie no matter how unlikely that may seem just wouldn't keep quiet. "It's just... I..."

"Jihehl," Mace softened his tone almost imperceptibly, and while most people even on the Council wouldn't have spotted the difference, Jihehl was one of the few people who could, "You were there when she died, so you felt her fully become one with the Force first-hand. And both Master Yoda and I were present at her funeral, standing right next to you nearly the entire time, so we all saw her being lowered into her final resting place. I'm sorry, but she really is gone. If would search your feelings, you would know what I say is true."

Indeed, if he focused, he could feel three strands of energy connected to him through the Force and the ghost of a fourth where a meeting of two beings had been forever lost.

The first string was well-worn but still held strong, being the eldest of the formed bonds. This one, Jihehl knew, lead to his old Jedi Master, Yoda. It had been some time since the connection had been used by either of them, as they each had their respective duties to carry out these days which kept them quite busy, but still it was far from neglected or forgotten on Jihehl's end. He knew that if he wished it, he could but reach out and his Master would reply in an instant.

The second was pulled taught, unbending and unbroken, not a microfiber out of place and not a single weakness anywhere on the link itself. However, much tension came from either end of the connection and so put much stress upon the thread, but still it held out against the pressure. It was also the thickest and most constantly used in recent days, belonging to none other than his current conversational partner, Master Mace Windu himself. Yes, while usually bonds such as these most commonly formed between Master and Apprentice, and it could also form between very close colleagues who worked together constantly. Plus, Mace had been schooling him in Form VII, so it was only natural that somewhere along the way, a tie would come to be formed.

The third and most recent was bonded him to his 'new' Padawan, Athos Semper. On Jihehl's end, it was well-kept but somewhat untouched, being somewhat underused but also not weak. Athos' end on the other hand showed signs of constant communication traveling to Jihehl from it, often letting him know what his Padawan was doing or about to do at any given time, for the boy was all too eager to let his Master know of his activities at least some of the time.

The fourth space used to be occupied by the presence of Yalla Laylee, but since her death it has become little more than a hole which could not be filled not matter what he did or didn't do. Still, he had the memory of what used to be there which acted like a sort of spiritual phantom pain that wouldn't let him forget about what he could never recover. He tried to ignore it, tried to block it out, but whenever he let his attention wander for even a second while he was perusing the strings, the scar he did everything he could to ignore would be quick to step in and remind him of its presence. It was a shadow hellbent on following him for all eternity, and he didn't know how to shake it within the confines of this life.

"Which brings us back to my hypothesis," Mace appeared to have watched all this, and no longer appeared content to let his friend wallow in gloomy thoughts, "That the artifact has not only recognized the alignment of its bearer, but also discovered chinks in the armor it may use to it's advantage."

"You speak like it's sentient."

"An object need not be self-aware to carry malevolent intentions, especially an object once owned by a Sith." Mace braced himself for what he knew he had say next. "Which is why even though I'm well aware I have mentioned this to you several times in the past, I must once more ask that you hand the pendant over for summery destruction once and for all." Jihehl's feelings on the matter must have betrayed him, for next heard, "Don't give me that look; this is as much about your wellbeing as it protecting both the Jedi and the Republic from a threat most dark. Do you think I haven't noticed? That you've slept only fitfully for years even before the war came? How some days you skip meals not because you're too busy, but because when she's on your mind, you can't bring yourself to swallow even a single bite? Maybe how you are a Master to your Padawan when it comes to teaching him the physical aspects of being a Jedi and berating his behavior, but you refuse to open yourself up to him and so leave him bereft of the opportunity to learn not just from your teachings but from your losses, gains, triumphs, and mistakes as well?"

"I took him on at your insistence." Jihehl argued, latching on to the one thing he felt like he could contest.

"And I recommended him to you because I believed he could help to finally start healing your wounds," Mace's voice was calm, but Jihehl could feel the sharp edge beneath it, "But you continue to shut him out while desperately clinging on to a piece of metal as though one day it will suddenly solve all your problems and take the pain away. Somedays, I think Knight Noza is doing better than you are and his loss was that much more recent."

"If that's what you think, than maybe you should go and pester _him_ about his Padawan." Jihehl growled, and then flinched at his own words, horrified that he'd let himself express even that much anger to one of his own friends. The veritable anger... he could be hot-headed, yes, but he still knew better then to speak to another person, let alone a Council Member like that.

"There it is." Mace's tone was cold now, and Jihehl knew that to snap like that again would be crossing the line, "Another thing I've noticed especially in the more recent months is that whenever I bring up doing away with the pendent, no matter how measured your answer, it is always accompanied by a grain of resentment. Your mind may be well-shielded, but I know you well enough to read your face, and I know what I saw. You are becoming possessive of it to a degree that is more than a little unhealthy, and that worries me greatly, Jihehl. Finally, there are these outbursts you've been having with me of late, as you demonstrated to me now..."

"Mace, there's nothing wrong. Trust me, I'm fine." Jihehl tried to insist reassuringly, but the words sounded hollow even to him, "I'm just a little cranky is all, otherwise I'm in full control of my faculties."

"And you will continue to be until you suddenly aren't." Mace countered unflinchingly, "Because as is life's way, maybe very soon or very long from now, something shall happen which will shake you to your very core and when you turn to the Force for strength and guidance, you will find only darkness waiting for you. Then Master Yoda, the clones, other Jedi including myself, and even Athos, we all become pawns to be used or obstacles to be destroyed."

"I would _never_-!" Jihehl began to protest vehemently, appalled at the mere implication.

"The Jihehl I'm speaking to right now wouldn't, but one who has been corrupted by the Dark Side wouldn't think twice about it. In fact, he might even grow to enjoy it."

Mace was reminding him of some very harsh realties he didn't want to face, and cutting off his every avenue of argument one-by-one. Unsure of what else to do, he stalled, trying to think of a sufficient comeback, 'I..." At that moment, he was saved by a timely intervention which came in the form of Force signatures approaching his office, "Someone is coming."

"Who?" Mace queried.

"It's..." He closed in on what he sensed and his answer came not a moment later, "My top officer and one of his men."

"Then it seems this conversation is over, at least for now. Make no mistake however, the days that pendent remains in your care are numbered. You know I value your friendship, Jihehl, but the safety of the Republic must always come first, and if preserving it means that I must save you from yourself, than so be it..." With little else to say, Mace cut the call, leaving Jihehl alone once again.

But not for long as someone knocked twice upon his door.

Jihehl took a shaky breath to steady himself before hastily pulling the pendent back under his robes, smoothing them over as he shifted in his seat and brought his hand up to rest upon his desk. "Come in!"

The door slid open to reveal two clones, both bedecked in the white and purple armor of the 433rd and carrying their helmets.

The first to step through the door bore the rank of Commander and had a pair of DC-17 hand blasters strapped to either hip as well as the hilt of a vibroknife peeking out from his belt just behind one of the guns. With a clean-shaven face, hair that has been buzzed short, wearing armour which had been meticulously cleaned above and beyond the bear minimum required of a solder of the Galactic Republic, and standing perfectly straight as was to be expected of someone who bore such a high rank, this was none other than CT-8103, also known as 'Preacher'.

Standing just behind him was CT-9842, or 'Starboard', one of the Tech Troopers assigned to the 433rd and Preacher's protégé of sorts, something the Clone Commander had picked up from watching Jihehl and Athos. Starboard differed from all of his brothers in that he was 'born defective' as it were, with blue eyes rather than brown and slightly decelerated aging which as of now physically placed him in his late teens and not than early twenties as with everybody else as well as having the side effect of giving him an air of youth and dare Jihehl say it, perhaps even a little innocence. He had also dyed his hair brown as opposed to the typical black and wore it longer than most and appeared somewhat more slender than most clones. Normally, a Clone who differed as much as Starboard did in appearance would be summarily terminated as a result of bearing the marks of imperfect cloning, but had been saved by the intervention of Preacher, who argued that his intelligence was an asset that the Army couldn't afford to waste and that even if he looked different, he could still follow orders just as well as any of his brothers. The Kaminoans, taken aback by such fierce resistance from normally so obedient and disciplined a clone, finally relented after careful consideration but made it clear that this was to be a one-time favor and would not occur ever again. While one hand was occupied by his helmet, Starboard's other held his DC-15S, fingers wrapped around the hilt and muzzle pointed down. On his back was a pack full of various electronic devices and at his side sat a DC-17 as a back-up weapon.

"Sir!" Preacher came to a stop before Jihehl's desk and executed a flawless salute, Starboard standing behind him but doing his best to show equal respect even with both hands full.

"At ease, Commander," Jihehl did an excellent job of disguising the turmoil he'd been feeling only moments before, appearing to be the collected Jedi General he always looked to be around his men. "What can I do for you?"

"Admiral Gyureft wishes to see you on the Bridge, General." Preacher informed him, "We have arrived at our destination and are now on approach to Tar Torgrias."

* * *

**Okay, so due to any number of things, but I've been gone a bit, but I'm back now so there's that. I was thinking of making this chapter even longer, but I wanted to keep things somewhat compartmentalized and felt like I was dragging the wait out long enough as it was. I'm also sorry if Mace was a bit OOC, but I think I was able to do what I wished without changing him from his original character too drastically. At any rate, I hope you guys like or can at least stand him, because we will be seeing him again at some point before this is over. **

**In other news, I think I've made a decision on my idea for the Old Republic SYOC, but more on that later. **

**Also for those of you still thinking of sending another clone or two in, I will tell you now that I can accept a one PM long profile, but the sender needs to use almost or all of the 8000 characters allotted to them. If it's so short that I don't need to scroll even a little to read all of it, than you probably still have more to write. **

**Also, for those of you who have been enjoying my story, please check out 'An Era of Kings' by A Terrific Acorn****, the creator also responsible for making our very own Jihehl Vesus, for which I cannot thank them enough.** **I personally have had a blast reading and contributing to their story and I sincerely hope you will as well. **

**Speaking of which, please also consider taking a look at 'Fall of the West' by Rougefication  along with their latest finished work, 'STAR WARS; Fall of the Order'. I for one have also deeply enjoyed their work and hope you will too, as the storytelling is absolutely phenomenal if I do say so myself.**

** With all that out of the way, I will be looking forward to reading your reviews. Goodbye for now!**


	10. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

_Several star systems away..._

_Ando Prime, Lambda Sector, Mid Rim._

He stormed forward, the continuous fire of his DC-15A only ever stopping when he was forced to skip over the limp form of one of his fallen brothers or stumble as artillery fire impacted near to his position, a fresh flurry of ice shards bouncing off his armor while the crunch of snow punctuated every step he took. All the while, red and blue blaster fire rushed back and forth around him, peppering his position and butchering a smattering of clones or clankers with each fresh volley. It was so thick that the sound of bolts whistling over and around his head were becoming akin to music to his ears and it already felt as if he'd been grazed more times than he could count. It was near sub-zero temperatures at the moment, but Shade and his men had been outfitted with winter gear for this fight, so they were only marginally cold rather than freezing to death. For once, Commander CT-7076 or 'Shade', envied the droids; they didn't have a concept of what it was to start feeling numb in one's extremities.

"_RELODING!"_

_"COVERING FIRE!"_

_"MEDIC!"_

Screams made by the same voice but coming from multiple different directions penetrated his helmet, reverberating in his ears, but he pushed on as fast as his feet could carry him. To his immediate left, he saw one of the medics dressed in the black and white of their unit trying to drag a soldier back to the hills of ice some two hundred meters to their rear, where the reserves were forming up and preparing to join the first wave in attempting to charge the objective. Shade knew he wouldn't be stopping there however, and would instead be taking that wounded man beyond the hills to the ice caves from whence they originally came, where the forward operating base including their current command center and field hospital were both set up. The medic, head low and body hunched to avoid incoming fire, spotted him coming and silently watched him speed passed whereupon he continued his duty, laboring to get his comrade out of enemy fire.

To his right, he saw another clone kneeling next to the body of one his dead brothers, shaking him and begging for him to just hold on a little longer though to Shade, it was clear to him the man was very much dead. The bereaved clone was heedless of it all, ignoring the streaks of red that threatened to take his own life with but one good shot or the dozens of still yet breathing brothers who ceaselessly flew towards the target just as Shade was even now, though they in turn were also paying little attention to this scene playing out in the middle of a firefight. Shade could hardly blame them for their perceived callousness, as the mission came first over the feelings of any person and they could hardly stop everything just to comfort a single man. Furthermore, to quit moving at a time like this for any reason was liable to get one killed, so it rather shocked Shade to see that this grieving trooper was not dead yet.

Shade changed direction, pushing the DC back and letting it fall into the security of his sling before he began running towards the oblivious soldier who even then saw nothing but his deceased compatriot and so gave quite the audible squawk of surprise when Shade tackled him into a pit to his direct right. Made by an artillery shell, it was just wide and deep enough to give complete cover to two people so long as they both hugged the snowy ground, something Shade did near immediately, laying on his side and maneuvering his gun so that it was now cradled in his arms.

Shade's dazed and confused compatriot who'd broken his fall on the other hand immediately sat up and attempted to climb out of the pit, heading right back to where he'd been a moment ago. Or he tried, as Shade's hand wrapped around his torso and forced him back into the snow. That next thing that poor man knew, Shade was practically yelling in his ear. "Does this look like a funeral parlor to you, soldier?! Keep your head down!"

The solider struggled against him, trying to break free of his grip, "No, he's alive! I can still save him-!"

"Are you a medic, trooper?! I'm not, but I'm also fairly certain he can't get any more dead than he is already!" Shade rolled onto his back and used his free hand to reach out of the pit from whence he's come in, groping around for something. A second later, Shade roughly slammed the clone's forgotten DC-15S into his hands, only taking his paws off once the soldier had stopped fighting him and shakily closed his fingers around his own blaster.

The trooper froze than gave a slow shake of his head, unwilling or unable to believe what he'd just been told but still trying to rationalize it. "He isn't... It's fine, he just needs..."

Shade couldn't truly hear him over the din of combat, but the body language communicated what he was trying to say nonetheless. It was honestly a surprise to him that he would encounter such an emotional display so openly on the battlefield and so soon at that, for the Kaminoans had commissioned the clones of Fett including himself to 'act now, grieve later'. It was a minor altercation in the genome to further enhance their ability as warfighters, compounded by an aspect of the flash-training all clones undertake to reinforce that particular notion just for good measure. Of course, that wasn't to say that they couldn't feel sorrow or even have a minor emotional breakdown during combat, for they could and often did, but it was never enough to interfere with their ability to interfere with their duty. The real pain was supposed to come after, once they'd left the battlefield and returned to the barracks, where they could sort through the losses in peace. Of course, there was always the possibility of it interceding during a lull in the bloodletting, but even that could be decently managed depending on the soldier and the measures taken to keep them in the moment. The problem present was that he was expressing such deep pain here in the middle of it, which was liable to get somebody killed and Shade simply couldn't have that. There were two immediate explanations that came to him, and one was that he was emotionally defective, which was slightly more common amongst active-duty clones due to it's status as being far less detectable than a physical defect. Generally however, they were also slightly more dangerous as they could lead good soldiers to make bad decisions should they become compromised in such a way, which was why the Kaminoans could at times be a little more harsh in their judgement.

The other reason for this could be that the dead clone over there was a Batcher of this one. 'Batchers' as they're called are clones born to the same tube at the same time and while all clones are 'brothers' as it were, the batchers are and were always especially close as they ate together, slept together, and trained together right from their first breaths. And, more often than not, they fought together even after training was complete as well due to the seamless cohesion which could only be created through years of working as a single unit. While the average clone troopers as a whole are infinitely superior to battle droids individually, this is also when it comes to squads or companies. With the right leadership and preparation as well as a high degree of general competence, it was entirely possible for one squad of clones from the same Batch to beat entire platoons of droids by themselves depending on the situation. The batchers take familiarity to another level, knowing each other so well that sometimes, words, expressions, and hand signals are not needed to communicate orders and requests. Of course, when a squad of batchers lose a member or more, the consequences can be rather great.

Such as now.

"I'm sorry, but the only thing he has need of at this point is either a grave or an incinerator depending on your- Hey!" The troop had begun to shrink in on himself, seemingly failing to hear much of anything after the word 'incinerator', and had so flinched at the sound of Shade raising his voice so abruptly. "Hey," Shade repeated a little more gently, "I know this is tough, but right now, you can't afford to let yourself get caught up in your feelings. Look, take a minute or two more but your other brothers in the 882nd still need you, so you have to get it together, alright?"

The trooper looked to him, staring blankly before his head cocked to the side as though he just noticed something that honestly should have been fairly obvious. "W-Wait, you're Commander Shade!"

"What? No, I'm just some other clone who wears the colors and rank of Commander of the 882nd." Shade grumbled sarcastically, "Of course I'm Shade, who else would I be? A Wampa masquerading as a Human?! I'm afraid I don't really care for burying my food in ice and nor am I in any hurry to discover what people taste like, thank you very much!""

"I- Sorry Sir!" The poor clone straightened as much as he could without risking a bolt to the back of the head, fingers curving around his DC like they must have hundred of times before, almost subconsciously preparing to follow any order his Commander gave him.

Shade released a puff of air. "Forget about it. It's fine." Tentatively, he peeked his head, casting an eye on their target then quickly ducked back down behind cover.

Sitting in the center of a large lake was Fort Dablis, the last bastion of Separatist resistance on Ando Prime. It was a dark and imposing structure cast from blackened Durasteel and would have looked from space to be in the form of a pentagon with massive walls which were currently swarming with Battle Droids of all shapes and sizes, and at the end of each were obsidian towers which seemed to stretch on forever towards the sky with layers upon layers of slits from where the barrels of anti-infantry weapons delivered their lethal ordinance. However, none of them compared to the field guns perched near to the top of each tower which were responsible for ripping the snowy plains surrounding the structure which the clones were scurrying up and down about like a hive's worth of panicking insects apart piece by piece, creating many of the holes Shade and his soldiers were hiding in even now. In no time at all, it'd turned the entire area into what looked like a frosty post-apocalyptic hellscape through which he and his men had been forced to pay for every inch in bodies. Worse still was that they were without cannons or armor of their own to fight back with, having little other choice but to leave them behind when they proved too cumbersome to fit into the ice tunnels. And so, they'd remained on the other side of the bleak, snowy mountain far off to the rear from whence Shade as well as his men had come and marked the exit to the tunnels they'd all traveled through to get here. Air superiority too was beyond them, as Shade knew that behind the wall of guns which had harried them since they got here, a row of anti-air weapons sat ready and waiting to tear any gunship sent it's way right out of the sky. Thusly, they'd been forced to opt for the good old fashion way; no armor, no air, just themselves, the weapons they carried, and the armor on their backs. The lake itself had frozen over, leaving a sheet of ice thick enough that one could safely walk on it without fear of falling through. However, nobody amongst his men had made it that far, though the closest clone-occupied foxhole was located just outside of it, so close that taking even one step forward out of the hole would have placed that particular soldier firmly on the frozen lake.

Off in the distance, straight ahead and outlining the intimidating structure from behind in a vibrant orange glow, the sun was beginning was beginning to dip below the horizon, sending a signal to all who had the presence of mind to notice that day would soon run out of light, at least for now. Regrettably, the sun was against the clone commander and his men coming from this angle, but their target was big enough to wrap most of the clones in the nearby vicinity in the shade in spite of how far off the fort still was, which should perhaps speak to the volume of it's size.

Shade had to fight not to smile.

These particular clankers didn't know it yet, but he and his brothers owned the night.

Shade turned back to the brother he was sharing this snowy orifice with, "I'm going ahead. Take a moment to collect your bearings, then join the rest of us when you're ready." Shade leaned in a little closer, "And don't do anything stupid, huh? I don't need a body count to know I've lost a fair few troops today, and I don't want to lose anymore than I must, so try to stay alive. That's an order."

"Sir, yes Sir!" The trooper saluted as well as he could without risking getting his arm shot off.

Shade leaned back, nodding to himself with satisfaction, "Just what I wanted to hear." The next thing that clone knew, Shade was gone.

* * *

Shade felt his leg buckle as it caught on a particularly hard piece of ice which was partially submerged in the snow, sending him crashing down to one knee, and not a moment too soon as a torrent of blaster fire raked over the area his head and chest had once occupied, ripping through a collection of soldiers who had been behind, beside, or just ahead of him. He grimaced as he rose back up, leveling his blaster at the column of B1s headed straight towards the mishmash of 882nd clones scrambling every which way as they tried to find cover, moved to fire back, or some amalgamation of both. The clankers had come out of the main gate and were slowly plodding along over the icy lake towards the Republic positions, unflinchingly advancing as they fell in ones and twos along the way. However, the number of destroyed was beginning to increase little by little as more and more clones recovered from the volley and began replying with their own fire. And as though to spite Shade's immediate estimation of the losses they had just taken, multiple clones who had just fallen around him were beginning to return to their feet, having only taken a graze or two, seen what was coming and dropped down, or perhaps gotten a little lucky like him and stumbled just in time to avoid death. The gate had since closed behind the war machines, blocking any chance of retreat for the B1s or entrance for the clones.

_'Whoever is leading these droids must be confident in victory if they are sending them out to fight us like this,' _Shade contemplated darkly, _'That, or they have numbers to spare and don't mind sacrificing a few if it means inflicting a little more damage on us. If the enemy should end up losing several very important pieces, than what are the lives of a few pawns, am I right?' _Neither thought was very comforting, but Shade was far from worried.

Despite how bad it looked, Shade's gut told him the losses they were taking were nowhere near as bad as they looked, a sentiment backed up by the fact that he still had about eight more waves of troops waiting in the wings. Speaking of which...

A fresh wave of war cries rang up some ways from where Shade had come, whatever words they may have shouted lost in the din and the distance between them, but the similarity in the voices was unmistakable.

That would be Wave Three, and boy did they sound hungry for a fight.

Furthermore, everything was going in accordance with his General's plan, with even the most mild of his predictions seemingly coming true before Shade's very eyes. And while some of the other commanders might have had some misgivings about the Jedi who were leading them, Shade had none about his for as far as he could tell, the General placed in charge of the 882nd was a tactical genius. Obviously, he was far from an expert on Jedi as a whole but even he had heard about the incredible prowess of General Mundi and thus far, his former Padawan was proving to be just as capable both physically and mentally.

Shade's DC joined those of his men in picking off their adversaries who by now were less than a hundred and fifty feet away, shot after shot finding their marks as he blasted the cranium of the first droid his sights centered on which sent the head lazily spinning into the air before it joined the body on the ground, put two shots into the chest plate of the second enemy after which the body dropped with such force that it slid forward for several seconds before coming to a complete stop, and then hit a third in it's spindly midriff, causing it to double over in on itself as it collapsed in a heap of metal. He wasted no time in following up on that by making a break for one of the pits right next to frozen water, leaping in with reckless abandon while absently noting that in the time it'd taken him to get there, the B1s had been shredded down to two-thirds of their original number.

As he settled into this particular hole, he took note that the sunlight was almost gone now, with only the last streams of twilight illuminating the battlefield under naturally occurring light. With each passing second, it seemed to get a little darker and darker, the surrounding area sliding into impermeable blackness he could not have begun to even peer through without his helmet's nocturnal settings or a flashlight.

Night falls, and soon, the Separatists would fall with it.

The wind was also picking up to the degree that his helmet's audio could pick up it's whistling as it whizzed around him, kicking up a cloud of sleet which battered his troopers with fresh flakes as it rolled along with the force which had set it in motion in the first place. Simultaneously, snow has begun to fall from the sky, light and innocuous as it made a gentle entrance to the area, softly fluttering about as the flakes slowly but surely greeted the carnage ensuing around them.

But Shade wasn't fooled. Combined with this wind, there was no doubt that a snowstorm was on the horizon, he could feel it in his bones.

"Commander Shade." Shade rolled off his stomach and onto his right side, catching sight of the only other occupants of this particular piece of cover. There were two of them, one of whom was as wounded as he was unconscious which was to say very and likely one of the 'Shinnies' brought in to replace some of the number they'd lost back on Geonosis, judging by the lack of individual markings on this one's armor. That's some bad luck, to get shot on one's very first deployment, but that's just the way it goes sometimes. In war and in life. The other soldier was very much awake, looming over the unconscious clone as dexterous fingers worked at the injuries, his armor crisp and unmarked save the red medic's patch emblazoned on his right shoulder. This one was as new to combat as his armor, but had already managed to distinguish himself to Shade over the course of this single planetary campaign through the number of times Shade had been forced to hunt him down and (gleefully) kick him awake so that he could attend to his duties. This medic's name was Private CT-1434, but everybody called him 'Clicks', and he had the laziest singular demeanor Shade had ever come across, but he was incredibly good at his job in spite of appearances and hadn't let Shade down yet where the on-sight application of battlefield medicine was concerned. "Nice of you to drop in.' Clicks continued wryly as he shrugged his shoulders, eliciting a few cracks that were audible enough for Shade to hear it from his end of the ditch. That was how Clicks got his nickname, for even though he was the same biological age as every other clone in the Grand Army, Clicks had the misfortune of inheriting a minor defect which gave him the joints of an old man. Perhaps because of it, Clicks had already developed a reputation for complaining to anyone who would listen whenever they had to do extraneous physical activity, and yet he was perfectly able to keep up with the rest of his brethren whenever he truly needed to. Unsurprisingly, he was also the center of many jokes focused particularly on the elderly.

"Yeah, I was in the neighborhood just strolling along and minding my own business when some mechanical hoodlums tried to jump me and steal my wallet, so I thought I'd hide out here in your lovely winter home for a bit." In case it was not evident, Shade was given his nickname not just because he was the leader of a corps of clones who specialized in operating at night, but because he had a rather glib tongue for a commander. He thought it was one of his greatest assets, but time had proven to him that it was also one of his greatest inhibitors. "I must say, I thought I'd find you slinking around at the bottom of one of these craters, but I didn't expect you to be so close to the frontline."

"I go where the bodies take me, Sir." Clicks angled his neck to side, eliciting another sharp pop, "Ah, my neck... And they led me to here, unfortunately."

"How's he doing." Shade nodded to the clone under Clicks' care.

"Good, I think." Clicks replied, shooting his superior a glance before he resumed tending to the subject of their discussion, "He took a pretty bad hit, but fortunately for him, he just so happened to literally fall into my lap right after. Presuming he doesn't get shot again and no complications arise, he should make a full recovery. So, how's the battle going, Sir? Can we expect victory here soon? I only ask because I'm about ready to take a nap and crouching down here all this time is seriously doing a number on my back."

"All is going well, my geriatric friend." This statement was punctuated by the scream of a nearby clone, after which Clicks all but sighed as he realized his workload was about to get bigger and Shade quietly amended, "Mostly."

"Whatever you say, sir." Clicks remarked noncommittally, "You got an estimate on how long it'll take our fearless leader to execute his end of the plan?"

"He'll execute it when he executes it, that's all I can say." Shade brought his DC up over the edge of the hole and squeezed off a burst of bolts, downing yet another droid before he descended back into relative safety.

"You trust he'll come through? I don't mean to put a damper on you're enthusiasm Sir, but I've heard all kinds of stories about Generals who proved to be inadequate in going about trying to fulfill the demands of their positions." Clicks questioned.

"If I didn't, I probably wouldn't be lounging in the slush and internally wondering whether it'll be the cold or the droids that get me first, don't you think? He'll come through, just you wait." Shade insisted, checking the power cell on his blaster. Still good to go. Splendid, as he suspected he would have to fight through many more battle droids before the day was done.

"Your faith in the General is so heartwarming, I almost shed a tear there... But dragging up the level of emotion necessary to do that felt like a lot of work, so I didn't go through with it."

"Tell you what old man, you worry about keeping him alive and I'll worry about our chances of winning the battle, alright?" Shade didn't wait for him to reply, attention already completely back on the focus of their assault, gazing at it so intently that one wouldn't not be remiss to presume that he was attempting to peer through the walls, and thinking back to what his General had told him only a couple of hours before._ "'Worry not Commander, I speculate that if all goes well, Fort Dablis will fall before midnight tonight.', he said." _Shade reflected internally, shaking his head, _'Well General, I'm in postion, so it's all up to you now...'_

* * *

Within the inner keep of Fort Dablis, a pair of B1 battle droids calmly patrolled it's dreary and poorly lit grey, halls making their way along a path they took nearly every day. Just as the outside was horribly unnerving, the inside was hardly any better, with the sort of unsettling aesthetic to it which reminded R0 of a haunted castle from one of those types of stories the meat bags sometimes cooked up to scare each other. But R0 didn't mind that, for he lacked the necessary intelligence to be afraid of such places, however eerie it may or may not have been.

As they walked on in this corridor that was so quiet, the only sound that could be heard were their own footsteps which seemed to reverberate off the walls, R0 paused as he heard one of the artillery guns go off, but was met with a return to silence immediately after as it was the only weapon loud enough for them to hear this deep inside the fort. The screams of those pesky clones, the sounds of the blasters, and the explosions which resounded through the area as thermal detonators and artillery shells went off at irregular intervals, they were all so close and yet too far for them to hear within the confines of these walls.

"Hey," He felt his companion, R1-TW, nudge him and then point to a fork in the passageway ahead of them which went either right or left. "Which way do we go again? I forgot."

"Again? I just told you not even fifteen minutes ago." R0 fought hard to keep the agitation from seeping into his nasally vocabulator, "We're going to the left!" He finished that statement by resolutely marching forward and turning down the right hall, quickly disappearing from R1's sight.

"Uh, R0? That's the right." R1's voice informed him from around the corner he'd just moved passed.

A moment later, R0 sauntered back into R1's sight and then out of it once more after he'd corrected his course, calling back, "I knew that!"

"Sure you did..." As he continued walking, the sound of metal feet trotting up behind R0 told him that R1 had rejoined him, "So, what do you think?"

"About what?"

"You know what," R1 took a slightly larger step forward to look his partner in the face plate, "The clones! They're finally here, having come to destroy our homes and devour our babies, guided ever onward by their uncontrollable bloodlust and thirst for synthetic flesh! They're the bringers of the end times, and they shall not stop until all of droidkind have felt their wraith!" As one may have imagined, this rather over-the-top collection of sentences was accompanied by R1 gesticulating as wildly as his stick-thin limbs, one of which was holding a blaster, would allow him to.

The patrol abruptly stopped as R0 turned and just blankly looked at R1, before slowly shaking his head as he elicited the droid equivalent of a sigh. "When we're finished here, I'm telling the Supply Officer to cut back on your oil supply."

An electrically augmented gasp filled the air as R1 recoiled in horror, "You monster!"

"Oh please, you've been mildly malfunctioning for days now and I'm pretty sure that the extra oil you've been taking in may have something to do with it, if it's seeped into your logic matrix as I suspect." R0 resumed patrolling, R1 only a step behind, "... They are done for."

"What, my logic matrix?" R1 asked with great confusion, not that confusing him greatly was very hard.

"No-well, that too, but I meant the clones." R0 replied, focused on the path ahead of him, "Last I heard, they charged our defenses head-on and they don't even have their Jedi General with them, so I'll be surprised if we haven't obliterated them in a couple of hours. Plus, this new Separatist General the higher-ups sent us has all but whipped our army into tip-top shape, so there's no way they can stand against us now."

"Yeah, he really is something, huh? Where do you think they found someone like him?" R1 was now right besides R0.

"Don't know, Don't care. All I can tell you is that I'd take him over General Grevious any day." They were now nearly to the end of their route on this level of the burg, and soon made their way to the turbo lift which would take them the next level from which they were to continue their assigned patrol pattern. "Let's make a pit-stop at the lowest level, I want to check on how our defenses in the ice tunnels are holding up."

"Roger, roger." R1 sounded off dumbly as he came to a stop alongside R0, before another question came to him. "Hey RO, where do you think the Jedi really is? None of our reports mentioned that he's left the planet and it's not like there is any other area of interest to the Republic left on this rock as far as we know, so he has to be around here somewhere, right?"

"How should I know? It's not like I live inside the Jedi's head." R0 went to hit the call button which would send the turbo lift to them, but withdrew his hand when he realized it was already coming to them. "But if you want my opinion, the Jedi is probably hiding at the back of their lines like the coward he is."

The door slid open, revealing an entire turbo-lift's worth of clone troopers dressed in the white and black armor to 882nd Dusk Corps, crammed in from one end of the space to the other, all of whom immediately began peering at the pair of droids with would could only be described as 'deeply malevolent intentions'. However, most of them were forced to do so from around either shoulder of the humanoid who'd stood in front of the doors and so was likewise closest to B1s when this situation began.

He was a Chiss male with short but slick and organized dark hair, crimson red eyes which bled all over the flesh of either eyeball and shined with great intelligence, and deep blue skin. He was quite tall to the degree that he stood even higher than the clones, with a scar running across the meat of his right temple from the side of head to the top, disappearing into the hairline at either end, and looked to be well-built but not the point that he was bulging with muscle. He was wearing a brown overtunic with a leather belt and boots of the same color as well as black trousers and a dark undertunic, and hooked to one side of the belt was what could be only be a single-bladed lightsaber. The Chiss appraised both droids quickly if dispassionately, regarding them with nothing short of great disinterest. "An amusing if tragically incorrect conclusion." He rumbled with a rich voice deeply befitting of a man with a great stature such as him.

Both B1s, like any other being would have, immediately reacted. Though of the two, R0 had the slightly more proper response. "Blueberry-I mean, intruder!" He cried as he tried to raise his blaster.

R1 on the other hand... "Oh my goodness, he's so tall and handsome!" The droid looked up at the large man eagerly, "Can I have your autograph?!"

The Chiss, choosing not to dignify that with a response or even a proper reaction of his own, moved fast, faster even than R0 despite the droid having started first. A green flash of light filled R0's optical receptors, and then both he and R1 knew no more.

* * *

Risk'iwaz'zruge' or Riwazu as he was better known examined the freshly made mechanical corpses with impassive if analytical eyes, before nodding to himself, satisfied with his work. It had been a clean and quick horizontal slash, placed at the right level to decapitate both B1s with one fell swoop, and then they'd both fallen limply before him him, limbs and E-5 Blaster Rifles clattering the floor. As he returned the lightsaber to his belt, he faintly heard one of the clones behind him, Sergeant CT-7408, or 'Gunny', faintly say something to the effect of "Aw man, I wanted a piece of them."

"Hush," Lieutenant CT-7474, 'Noir', and Riwazu's Ranking Officer in place of Shade, shushed him lightly but firmly, 'Before you blow our cover."

Riwazu paid neither of them any mind, gazing down the hall before he brought a hand up and signaled to the clones, _'Advance.' _

At once, twelve troopers poured around either side of Riwazu and into the passageway one by one, dividing into two lines and raising their weapons as they hugging either wall, checking every conceivable direction for a possible threat. Not a sound was made this entire time, the group moving in complete silence. The last to leave Riwazu before he was standing alone in the elevator was Corporal CT-3235, or 'Bam', the Demolitions Specialist who was hand-picked by Riwazu for this mission and the piece around which this plan revolved. He stood near at the very back of the line to the right side, standing where he could act at the rearguard to his brothers but also in a position that was not so far that Riwazu couldn't reach him quickly, precisely as Bam had been instructed by the General at the start of the assignment. He was distinctive amongst the armor of his brothers thanks to the large, cartoonish-looking explosion drawn over his left chest plate, the style which honestly would not have been out of place in an animated holoshow.

Having reached the end of that section of the hallway, Noir, who was at the head of the right group, quickly signaled 'Clear' to the rest of them. Upon seeing it, the troopers relaxed slightly, breaking off to find their own particular sections of cover with the exception of two troopers who Noir silently ordered to stand guard where he'd been a moment ago. Positioned next to the turbo-lift doors opposite Bam was Private CT-6626, 'Dash', who greeted Riwazu as he stepped out of the lift himself. Dash was in charge of the technical end of this operation, and stood out almost as much as Bam thanks to the dark dash marks that covered his helmet, shoulder pads, and knee guards. Tapping a few keys on his wrist com, he quickly brought up a schematic of the fortress they were currently inside before zooming in, highlighting their current position with a yellow dot and then swiping over to another section of the map and using a red dot to indicate their target; the Main Reactor. Quickly committing all relevant sections of it to memory as fast and efficiently as he could, Riwazu gave a curt nod to the tech trooper who canceled the holomap, quickly saluted, and then moved briskly back to his previous position, awaiting further orders.

A few long strides later, Riwazu had closed the distance between himself and Noir, tapped the clone Lieutenant on the shoulder pad, and quickly if silently communicated, '_I'll take point.' _To which he received another salute before the clone took a step back and allowed his General to take up his position.

Standing there, Riwazu took a moment to consider how the plan had been going thus far and found no reason to be displeased for it had gone off without a hitch. After moving underground from the caves where the 882nd headquarters was located to the tunnels which lead to directly beneath Fort Dablis itself which had been something a gamble given that the path between those two points had been lost for thousands of years and could have resulted in the lot of them getting lost as well, a quick if violent and nearly noiseless skirmish with the squad of droids who had been set up at the lift entrance, and a swift ride to the level they were currently on, they were now gearing up to destroy the main source of power within this base which helped to keep the defenses of the fortress active, including their artillery guns. Without those, the Republic Navy would be free to fly in and bomb to kingdom come, to be followed shortly afterward by both ground forces and jump troops who would all but overwhelm the few droids the bombs did not destroy. Even better, they'd managed to get this far seemingly without giving any of the clankers a reason to suspect that Riwazu and his men had made it inside even with the quick thinking on the General's part a few moments earlier. It was perfect...too perfect. Something was about to wrong with this mission, he was sure, but he'd come quite far by this point and no intention of giving up now. He had prepared carefully for this task, and could not help but feel confident that he and the clones could handle whatever came their way for better or worse.

He gestured for the clones to follow him, and made the first step around the corner at the end of the hall, leading the way towards their objective. Alas, in doing so, he unwittingly fulfilled the concern that had been harrying him only a moment ago...

* * *

"General, we're picking up organic motion in the eastern quadrant!" A battle droid who had been sitting quietly at his station only a moment earlier informed the individual who'd recently been charged with overseeing the defense and then reclamation of Ando Prime, mechanized voice carrying across the throne room turned control room to the person currently occupying the old stony throne which took up much of the back wall.

Slowly, and with the help of a metallic staff, the figure robed in black stood to his full height, _"Then it seems we are ready to proceed with next part of my strategy... Good."_ The figure thought to himself before replying to his droid subordinate, deep voice supplemented with an electrical twang thanks their dark helmet ringing throughout the room. "Inform all auxiliary personnel that we have intruders within our walls, and that they are to report to their nearest command units for instructions in rooting out and destroying this invading force."

"Sir," Another droid at another monitor called to him from the other side of the room, "The lack of a Jedi General on the battlefield outside suggests that they may be leading this strike force. Presuming that is the case, what would you have us do?"

_"Ah yes, the apparent absence of the Jedi is most conspicuous, isn't it?"_ The figure regarded the droid for a moment before issuing a new set of orders even as he advanced further from his former seat and closer the set of workstations were a gaggle of B1s were sitting. "Summon my personal guard. If the Jedi is amongst them, I will deal with him myself."

"Oh yeah?" The synthetic worker closest to the figure who also seemed to have the least well-developed sense of self-preservation wondered aloud, tone conveying smug condescension, "And how are you going to do that, _General_?"

Within a moment, the figure turned to the droid while simultaneously twisting off a section of his staff so that he was now holding what looked like a rather long handle in one hand and thumbed a previously unseen activation switch. As a bloody red energy blade sprang forth from one end of the long handle, the figure swung down diagonally through the torso of the mouthy droid, sending it's body crashing to the ground in two separate pieces.

As he deactivated the weapon and began screwing back onto the staff, he looked about the room of dead silent droids. "So... any more questions?"

* * *

**Hey all, I'm back after being away forever. Sorry it took so long, but between the Coronavirus, the demands of my work in real life, and the contributions I've been making to the stories of other people, I was unable to update until just now. I am likewise sorry that it isn't much longer than this, but I figured I'd kept you all waiting for long enough.**

**In other news, several people have wrote to me expressing their interest in contributing to this new story of mine, and it is my profound pleasure to tell you all that the wait is nearly over, for I have decided that I'm going to open up OC submission here pretty soon. The profile will be available in the very first chapter of that story, which I plan to upload here in the next couple days or so. HOWEVER, I should make it clear that even after I have all the characters I need and close the submissions, I do not intend to start that story properly until I've introduced all the main characters in this one, which I've not done yet. Also, the rules for that one will be somewhat different from this one and as I think I've mentioned before, the angle I'm trying to play with for it will rather different. You will see what I mean once you look at the ground rules.**

**Okay, I think that's it, so please review this chapter if you are so inclined and follow or favorite if you haven't already. As always, no flames please.**

**Until next time!**

* * *

**Edit: Okay everybody, the new SYOC is up, so please check it out if you are so inclined!**


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